There and Back Again
by Merlin7 M.N. Talbert
Summary: When Sheppard and McKay travel to a planet intent in studying a scientific novelty, a malfunction sends them on an adventure with their lives at stake!COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

There and Back Again…

By Shelly and M.N. Talbert

**Chapter One**

_It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out you're door –you step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to._

The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring

Sheppard was pissed. And not just pissed, but 'get out of my way before I slug' something pissed. There was a fine line of distinction between the two, and if that something just happened to be Rodney McKay, then all the better. He couldn't believe that he was going to be stuck with McKay for four days, on some stupid alien planet, just so they could observe…what had McKay called it? Aurora Borealis…some fancy name for lights in the sky.

Back on Earth, they were called the Northern Lights. Electromagnetic storms in the atmosphere, caused by solar flares…scientists were still studying them, trying to figure out what made them tick. He was simplifying what they were; he knew that, just as he knew McKay would have a fit if he heard his thoughts. He'd gone on about something to do with solar flares, sunspots, super-excited atoms, and plasma. Sheppard wasn't dumb by any stretch, but the lecture had been about as dry as his ninth grade chemistry class, and he'd had just about the same amount of interest.

The point being, this planet seemed to smack current theory in the face with a 'meet me at dawn with dueling swords ready' slap because there wasn't any noticeable solar flares, or sunspots in the vicinity, and yet the sky was riddled with the light shows. As Ford had called it, a laser light display on steroids. And then Ford and Teyla had gone to the mainland and caught some kind of Jungle Rot. As bad as that sounded, it was even prettier in person…colorful, even. Greens, reds, and blues…he hadn't known toes could do that. Carson had assured everyone they'd make a complete recovery, thanks largely in part to the herbal cure from Teyla's people. Seems Jungle Rot was common in these parts.

But, that left him and McKay heading out on the mission down two people. Everyone was tasked to the limit, but Weir had pulled off Sergeant Hicks from one of the other teams. Three and three- seemed fair. Of course, Hicks' mission had been to make nice with the natives of PX9-999, and most of those natives were women of spectacular…well, let's just leave it at spectacular, thought Sheppard. He wouldn't be Hicks' favorite person any time in the near future.

Which brought him back to the reason why he was pissed. He couldn't believe that McKay thought that the first time some alien chick that looks good in a dress came along, he'd forget everything he'd ever learned as a military man. He believed in the old adage of you catch more flies with honey, and keep your enemies closer. Sure, he'd been intrigued by Chaya, but at no point had he been wrapped around her little pinky, as McKay had apparently thought.

When she'd confessed why she'd come back to Atlantis, it'd been as much of a shock to him, as anyone else, and then to be put in that kind of confrontation, and everyone else around, including McKay. He could hear the mental crowing across the table. He'd hardly spoken three words to him since he'd returned. And now, he had to spend four days, in a confined space, while McKay ran his tests. Wonderful. He slammed the extra supplies into the cargo net. Sheppard wanted to get this trip over with.

"Major? Where do you want this equipment?"

Sheppard looked up and saw Sergeant Hicks standing at the base of the ramp, and next to him were four huge silver cases. "What the hell are those?" he snapped. He didn't have room for that kind of cargo.

"Those are mine," said McKay, appearing in view from the side of the vehicle. McKay was outfitted in his vest, and had a rucksack with his change of clothes and other supplies he'd need while they were gone.

"And where do you think they're going to go?" asked Sheppard. "On the luggage rack?"

McKay peered around Hicks and into the rear of the Jumper. "I'm sure there's room in there somewhere."

Sheppard looked around. "No, there isn't."

"Then make room," bossed McKay, shoving his way past Sheppard, and heading towards the front of the ship.

Sheppard stared after him. Even for McKay that was pretty snippy. Guess the anger wasn't only a one way kind of deal. Hicks was in for more of a treat than even Sheppard had realized. When he and McKay were on good terms it could be dangerous, but both of them mad at the other…this could get ugly.

He looked back at Hicks, who was waiting for instructions on what to do. He picked up a box of supplies, and tossed it out the rear, narrowly missing Hicks in the process. "If he wants those so damn much, guess he'll just have to do without a sleeping bag," Sheppard tossed another bag of stuff, "And a pillow…" he kept up the monologue while he chucked everything he could without jeopardizing the mission. Finally, a hole was large enough for the four silver suitcases. "Move 'em in," he told Hicks.

He stashed his own bag against the bulkhead, and slid into the pilots seat, studiously ignoring McKay who was sitting in the copilots spot. Sheppard was sure of one thing, McKay wasn't going to get to fly this time out. Petty, maybe…but it still felt satisfying.

He took the Jumper through the preflight start-ups, hollered back to make sure Hicks was finished and had shut the hatch. Hicks hollered that it was done, and after shoving something around that made a loud clatter, he joined the two taking the seat behind Sheppard.

"Ready to go, Major," he said.

Sheppard communicated to flight that they were ready for a go, and within minutes, the Jumper was dropping through the bay doors. They hovered for a moment, and Weir wished them good luck. She always wished them good luck. He was beginning to think maybe if she didn't, they'd actually have good luck. He glanced at McKay, and found Rodney was staring straight ahead. Guess he wasn't the only one aiming for the silent treatment.

Sighing again at the thought of just how much fun this trip was going to be, he nudged the Jumper into the puddle, and seamlessly guided her back out the other end. They hadn't gone far when Sheppard realized something was wrong. The lights in the Jumper dimmed, and surged, and then dimmed again.

"McKay? What's going on?" asked Sheppard, fighting to keep the nose of the vehicle upright. They were just passing over a particularly wicked looking mountain, and he could make out the craggy peaks. He'd hate to crash down there.

McKay had begun fumbling with the controls, and finally jumped up, running to the access panel he'd reverted to before when things were bad. It bothered Sheppard that things appeared to be that bad.

"McKay?" he repeated, as the power whined, and began to drop.

"Working on it," gritted McKay.

"Major?" Hicks asked worriedly.

"You'll know something when we do, Sergeant," said Sheppard tersely, as the Jumper began losing altitude, fast. "McKay, if you've got a rabbit up that hat of yours, now would be a good time!"

"I think the rabbit abandoned ship," muttered McKay.

Then the Jumper went dark. All power was cut and the ground was coming up fast.

"Hang on!" shouted Sheppard. The hit was magnificent. He heard metal scream, and then maybe the screaming was himself and the other two people in the ship.

He'd tried to pull the nose up as best he could, but they were still flying forward, and down the mountain with unbelievable speed. He wondered how bad of a stop it was going to be, when fate answered. The front of the Jumper must have hit a rock; a very large rock, because it flipped, and continued to flip…he lost count and consciousness after the third rotation…


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

******_I made a promise, Mr. Frodo – a promise! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee' and I don't mean to…I don't mean to._**

******- The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring**

The first thing John became aware of was the pain. It was centered in his head, a throbbing spike of pain in his temple, and it pulled him out of the heavy darkness and into the shadowy light. John peeled his eyes open and everything was blurry. He blinked hard to clear his vision and realized he was in the puddle jumper. For a moment he couldn't remember why then the flash of memory hit him and John closed his eyes as he relived the moment of crashing into the mountain.

"McKay?" His voice was barely a croak and even that made his head hurt worse. But he called out again. Louder. "_McKay_!"

No response.

Shifting a bit, John realized he wasn't sitting upright. He was, in fact, half on his side and he gripped the console to pull himself up, swallowing the nausea that rushed into his throat. And it was then that he realized the jumper was off kilter. They weren't resting on its side, but they were angled halfway between that and right side up. Gazing about the dim interior gave John a feeling of vertigo. But he worked past it and pushed out of the pilot's seat. He had to find McKay and Hicks.

Every movement caused the pain in his temple to spike and John pressed a careful hand to his head, wincing at how tender the area felt. Obviously he had hit his head. He'd suffered a concussion a few years back and he knew his symptoms were similar now, but he didn't have time to deal with it.

Moving carefully away from the cockpit, John realized the inside of the jumper was trashed. Everything had fallen out of place and collected under the benches on the left side of the jumper. Which meant Rodney and Hicks were there also. So John stumbled forward, gripping whatever surface he could to guide his way, until he spotted a tan covered arm. That had to be McKay.

John surged forward until he reached the spot, then he shoved away a backpack to reveal McKay's face. With a shaky hand, John reached out to feel for a pulse. A bit thready, but strong and he heaved a sigh of relief. It was only as John did a sweep down Rodney's body that he realized McKay's legs were pinned by one of the giant silver cases.

"Shit!" John hissed, as he shifted position so he could move it off. It was slow going because the case was heavy and he didn't have a lot of room to maneuver in. By the time John got it set aside, he was drenched in a cold, clammy, sweat. "Rodney!" John said loudly. "Wake up!" He patted McKay's cheek but there was no response.

John was worried, but he had to shift his focus to finding Sergeant Hicks. The rest of the cases had crashed together near the exit, and John stepped over Rodney and shifted them out of the way. He had to stop twice to rest. Once the last case was pushed aside, he found himself staring at Hicks's body.

John didn't have to check the man's pulse to know he was dead. Even from where he stood he could see the twisted angle of a broken neck, and Hicks's eyes were wide open and unseeing. John closed his own eyes for a moment, letting another wave of dizziness pass before standing up to open a compartment and grab a blanket. He spread it over the Sergeant then turned away. Rodney needed attention.

"McKay!" Once back at Rodney's side, John patted his face again. No response. John ran his fingers, carefully, over the back of Rodney's head, searching for injury. He found nothing obvious, which made him all the more worried. Then he ran his hands over Rodney's legs, hoping nothing was broken. But when he touched Rodney's left knee, he heard a soft moan.

John reached behind him, freeing his knife from the sheath on his belt, then he used it to cut open Rodney's pant leg. He winced at the sight. Rodney's knee was grotesquely swollen and mottled purple. That had to hurt like hell. Stepping away from McKay, John searched for the med kit. He found it under one of the benches and made his way back to McKay. A few minutes later he had the knee wrapped. Finishing up just as McKay opened his eyes.

"Ow...dammit!" Rodney slapped away Sheppard's hand. "That hurts!"

John sighed. "Yeah...I'm sure it does. Other than that, how are you feeling?"

Rodney's eyes went wide as they swept around the interior of the jumper. "We crashed."

"We did," John confirmed.

"You okay?" Rodney's eyes locked on Sheppard's face.

John resisted the urge to nod, knowing that to do so would make his aching head hurt worse. "I'm okay," he said firmly. "You banged up your knee pretty bad."

Which focused Rodney on the pain. He cursed as he tried to sit up, then whined a bit, but allowed Sheppard to help him. "Where's Hicks?"

"Didn't make it." John spoke a bit more sharply than he had intended.

"Oh." Rodney went a shade paler, but then he pulled himself together. "So...did you contact Atlantis?"

John blinked at McKay. He hadn't even thought to try. So he scrambled to his feet, only to stumbled down to one knee as a wave of dizziness hit him like a two by four. 

Rodney watched him, worry shining in his eyes. "I thought you said you were okay?"

"I'm fine!" John hissed, as he pushed himself back to his feet. Moving slowly, he made his way back to the cockpit. He touched the console and nothing happened. Not that he had really expected it too. "It's dead," John announced, and he heard the heavy flatness of his tone echoing throughout the jumper.

"Yeah...just like we are," Rodney bemoaned. 

John glared at him. "We're not dead yet!"

Rodney glared back. "It's just a matter of time, Major. In case you haven't noticed we're trapped in a dead jumper, and given the fact that what caused us to crash has killed all chance of us contacting Atlantis, I think it's a safe assumption to make."

"We'll walk back to the gate," John snapped back. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but damn if he wouldn't do just that, if only to prove McKay wrong.

"Somehow I don't think I'll be doing much walking," Rodney drawled, as he pointed to his knee. "But you go ahead, Major. Good luck and all that."

John got up and made his way back to McKay's side. "You know I won't leave you behind, McKay," he gritted out. "So shut up!"

Rodney opened his mouth to reply but clicked it shut and shook his head. A moment later he asked, "Got a powerbar on you?"

"I'll find one," John replied. He realized they had no way of knowing what time it was, but it was still daylight, that much he could tell looking out of the cockpit window. But he guessed they didn't have but a few hours of daylight left. Which meant he needed to set things up for the night, and there were things he needed to prepare so they could start their trek in the morning. Rising to his feet, John grabbed the nearest backpack and realized it was Rodney's when he unzipped it and it was full of powerbars. He tossed one to McKay then went about searching for his pack and Hicks's.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, as he watched Sheppard moving about the jumper. Moving slowly and almost too carefully. He knew something was wrong.

John found all three packs and started rifling through them. But then he realized this was something Rodney could do so he brought them over to where Mckay was reclining. "I need you to fill my pack with all the food and water we have. One thermal blanket, and all the med supplies that will fit."

Rodney brightened at the mention of the med kit. "Any morphine in there." He was trying not to complain, but his knee hurt like hell.

"I'm sure there is but don't use it yet. You'll need it for the journey."

"What journey?" Rodney looked at him askance. "You aren't honestly planning on walking to the gate? I told you, I can't walk."

John nodded. "I know. But you can ride, right?"

With that he got up and moved to the back of the jumper. He rummaged in one of the compartments and found a shovel and two, six foot, lengths of tarp. Armed with one tarp and the shovel, John manually opened the door and headed out. He squinted in the sunlight, closing his eyes against the sharp stab of pain in his temple. He dropped the shovel and tarp and fumbled in his vest pockets, sighing in relief when he found his sunglasses. They weren't crushed or scratch. John slid them on and it made the light bearable. The ache in is temple eased a bit and he grabbed the shovel again.

He had work to do.

oOo

Rodney was getting worried. He did what Sheppard asked, using the contents of all three packs to load what he could into one. Since his watch wasn't working he didn't know how much time had passed, but he knew it had to be a couple of hours at least. He was just about to attempt crawling to the hatch door when Sheppard appeared. He was covered in dust and looked a bit shaky.

"Where the hell were you?" Rodney demanded.

John ignored him as he climbed into the jumper. There were water bottles in the compartments and he grabbed one and downed half. Only then did he reply. "Digging a grave." He pretended not to notice Rodney wince.

John watched McKay's eyes shift to the blanket covered body that rested near where John was standing. "I'm going to bury Hicks then we'll settle in for the night. I have a project for us."

"What are you talking about?" Rodney was beginning to think that Sheppard had suffered brain damage. First talk of trekking to the gate. Which was stupid on so many levels. All the more so since they had no idea which direction to head in. Now he wanted to do projects? But Sheppard was ignoring him. He was pulling Hick's body out of the jumper and then he was gone again for a while.

"Rodney, wake up!"

Rodney started, then hissed as the movement jarred his knee and pain vibrated through his entire body. "What?" he snapped. "I'm awake!" To the side he muttered, "Sadistic bastard-"

John didn't take offense. "You can sleep later. We have work to do." He dumped the second length of tarp in Rodney's lap then held out his knife. "I need you to cut out eight holes. Four on each side, start at the ends and work your way in, equal distance."

"What the hell do you think you're making?" As Rodney asked he noticed Sheppard had two lengths of branches with him. Maybe eight feet each. They were as thick as his forearm and had been stripped of any branches. Rodney then watched the major rummage in the compartments again, finally digging out a thick loop of cording. And that's when it hit him. "You're building a travois."

"We're building a travois," John corrected. "Eat another power bar, I don't need you going into shock."

Rodney glared at him. "I ate one while you were gone. Actually, at this point, I'm more interested in pain killers. Like...morphine."

John swallowed a sigh as he settled himself on the floor. "No morphine, Rodney. I told you. We're saving it for the trek."

"You don't honestly think you can pull me all the way to gate?" Rodney voiced his disbelief. "In case you've forgotten, Major, we don't even know where the damn gate is."

"We'll find it." John locked eyes with Rodney. "I need you to cut those holes for me. I'll even give you some Tylenol." As he spoke, John pushed to his feet again but listed sharply and had to catch himself on the wall.

He put his head down, gulping in air, trying to fight the rising nausea and came close to losing the battle. After a moment he realized Rodney was talking to him. The words were like white noise, but he could guess what McKay was asking. "I'm...fine," John whispered.

Rodney knew better. Sheppard was pale and shaking and his hair was damp and his skin sheened in a cold sweat. And suddenly, Rodney got sidetracked by the fact that he could still see Sheppard. It was still daylight. "Daylight must last longer here," he said out loud.

John had been thinking the same thing. "Good for us."

"I suppose."

"Start cutting, Rodney. I'll get the Tylenol." John made to move again.

Rodney made a face at him. "I told you it's in the backpack. You told me to put it in there. And I already took some."

John was relieved to hear that. He still felt nauseous and he was tired and he felt gritty. And it was then that he remembered seeing something in the compartment. Wet wipes. He smiled to remember how having them had come about. McKay's concern over germs.

John couldn't remember the exact conversation now, his head felt too fuzzy to think clearly, but he was glad now that it had happened. He retrieved the wipes and used a couple to clean his face and arms. He felt better when he was done and then he realized something. "Mckay...bet you need to pee."

"Oh...yeah." Rodney had almost forgotten about that. He'd meant to mention it earlier but he kept getting sidetracked. 

"Come on…I'll help you outside."

John got to his feet and made his way over to McKay. As he bent to loop one of Rodney's arms over his shoulders, John winced. He was already feeling stiff and sore from all the digging and from stripping the tree branches. He was going to be one aching puppy in the morning, but John didn't want to think about that now. He straightened up, hauling McKay to his feet, then helped him hobble out the back of the jumper.

The entire process of getting Rodney outside, over to a nearby bush, then back inside seemed to take hours. By the time he had Rodney settled again, John felt sick and shaky and exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and close his eyes. But they had to get the travois made.

"Cut the holes," he ordered McKay.

Rodney rolled his eyes, because this really was a stupid idea. They would never make it to the gate. He had gotten a look at the area they would have to travel, and no way in hell was Sheppard going to be able to pull him across the steep and rocky terrain.

But, in spite of that fact, Rodney picked up the knife. Then he started talking. Mainly to distract himself from the pain in his leg. And as he talked he cut eight, precisely spaced, holes. When he was done he held out the tarp to Sheppard only to realize that the major was slumped over, unconscious.

"Major!" Rodney felt a spike of panic. He could see that Sheppard was white as a sheet and it hit Rodney then that the major must have suffered a head injury. Which meant he needed to stay awake. "MAJOR!" Rodney could be loud when he wanted to and he put that particular skill to good use. To his relief, Sheppard stirred.

John heard someone yelling at him. He forced his eyes open and peered, blearily, at the fuzzy form across from him. He had to blink to bring it into focus. "McKay," John whispered. "Why...why are you yelling?" As he asked, he pressed a hand to his aching head.

"You have to stay awake, Major," Rodney insisted. "You have to finish making the travois, remember?"

"Travois?" John echoed. What was McKay talking about?

Rodney realized that Sheppard was confused. Short term memory loss was one of the side effects of a serious head injury. Rodney had read up on that years ago. "Major...focus. We have to walk to the gate tomorrow. Well...you have to walk. I can't walk. So you have to finish making the travois so you can pull me."

John frowned then he realized he had a lapful of cording and that Rodney was holding out a length of tarp, and then he remembered where they were. "We...we crashed."

"That's right. We crashed." Rodney felt almost giddy with relief. He tossed the tarp at Sheppard. "Now get with the program. You have to tie the tarp to the tree branches. Oh...and what about a harness?"

"Make it out of the cording and pad it with a few strips of tarping. There's a small length left," John mumbled, without even realizing what he was saying. It was just some vague memory of something he was supposed to know.

Rodney was actually impressed by Sheppard's ingenuity. "You were a boy scout, weren't you?"

John almost laughed at that. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Isn't it? Parents forcing their kids out into the woods to hike and play with poison ivy and stuff. And hey...nothing like teaching a bunch of idiot boys how to make fire without matches." Having never been a boy scout, Rodney had no clue what they really did, but it sounded about right to him.

"It's not like that," John said softly, as he grabbed the first branch and began wrapping the tarp over it so he could bind it with the cording.

Rodney snorted, but it turned into a hiss of pain. "I need more Tylenol." He reached for the backpack.

John looked up at him. "Try to use it sparingly, McKay. We don't know how long we'll be out here."

"Right." Rodney had the bottle in his hand but he dumped it back into the bag. He would deal for now. Sheppard had promised him morphine in the morning. He was tired enough he figured he could sleep anyway. Only to remember that Sheppard needed to stay awake."

"Go to sleep, Rodney," John said softly, as if reading his mind. "I can work faster without you bugging me."

Rodney thought about making a sarcastic comeback but he realized he didn't have the energy. Pain had a way of draining a person. So he let his eyes close. He would nap for a bit then check on Sheppard.

John watched Rodney slip into slumber. Tomorrow was going to be hard on him so he needed to get as much rest as he could. John hoped he would sleep until morning. He then returned his focus to the work at hand only to realize that it was getting dark. He reached for one of the heavy duty flashlights and clicked it on. And for the next few hours John concentrated on tying the tarp onto the branches and making sure it was secure. Then he braided the cording into harness straps. By the time he was finished his fingers felt numb, his muscles felt stiff and sore, and his head throbbed abominably. So John curled up on his side and closed his eyes.

He slept without dreaming.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Certainty of death, small chance of success – what are we waiting for?_

The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King

John woke up with a headache. Figures, he thought grumpily, go to bed with a headache, wake up with a headache. He sighed, and rubbed a weary hand across his face. It was cold, he realized, though not so cold as it would be if they'd come to a stop farther up the mountain. But the temperatures dropped at night, and out there, they'd be unprotected from the elements. He shivered briefly.

This was going to be a very long day. He looked around the dim Jumper. It was a wreck, despite the work he'd done yesterday. Although, all he'd really done was get things ready to go, and bury Hicks. Not a lot you can do to fix warped metal, and shattered ships. He hated to leave it behind, but it'd never fly again.

John finally shook off the lethargy that threatened to send him back to sleep, and crawled over to the still figure wrapped in a blanket. "McKay," he called, shaking Rodney's arm gently. "Time to go."

He wanted to get an early start. He wanted off this mountain before storms rolled in. He knew from survival training that being caught on a mountain was bad news. Storms were frequent, severe, and they'd come out of nowhere. Here, they had shelter, but once they got going they were sitting ducks for bad weather.

McKay groaned, and Sheppard watched his eyes blink, and then stay open. "Go where?" he asked sleepily.

"On the big adventure," said Sheppard grimly. "Remember, I said we're hiking back to the gate." He thought it was funny he was telling McKay to remember, when he was the one struggling to keep things straight in his head.

"Bathroom," said McKay.

"Bathroom?" parroted Sheppard.

"Yes, you know, that thing people have to do in the morning?"

Sheppard noticed McKay looked uncomfortable, and it wasn't all from the pain of his knee. "Oh," he said. "Would this be number one, or two?" he asked.

McKay's face reddened. "Just get me outside," he snapped.

"Relax, I already helped you out to pee earlier," said Sheppard. He reached out and gave McKay a hand up. Rodney leaned on him heavily.

"I know," interrupted McKay. "It's just – number two," he finished lamely.

Explained the embarrassment. Men were pretty open about bodily functions, but being dependent on someone, and having to get help to take care of the basic things tended to make anyone a little self-conscious.

"Good thing we've got wipes," joked Sheppard, trying to ease McKay's discomfort. Heck, he'd have to face it himself, but at least he could get himself to a private spot.

"Sheppard, my knee hurts like hell, could we just go," McKay said.

John grinned, despite himself. "Say please."

"Shut up," retorted Rodney.

"It's worth a shot," said John. He helped McKay out, without waiting for the please, though he was half tempted to try for it again, just to keep McKay's mind off how bad his knee was hurting.

There was a large granite rock that jutted out from the mountain face, and it was big enough to afford McKay stability. John helped him over, and then stepped away. "I'll be in the Jumper, getting our stuff," he said. He figured he'd give McKay as much privacy as possible. He could hear if Rodney shouted for help, and that was close enough.

McKay didn't answer, so Sheppard went back to the ship, knowing the rough part was about to begin. He started setting the packed rucksacks onto the travois, to carry outside. He moved woodenly, trying to ignore the pressure in his head, and the blurry vision that came and went. He wished they had some extra painkillers, but they didn't. He was saving everything they had for McKay.

He figured McKay's knee was going to let him know that moving around was a bad idea. He'd held off on giving McKay the morphine, and there was a reason. The trip they were about to go on was going to teach Rodney the true meaning of hurt. He'd seen the fine lines of pain tighten around McKay's mouth as they'd moved out of the Jumper.

John sighed, there wasn't anything for it. He hated to put Rodney through the trek that was ahead of them, but it had to be done. They didn't have enough water to last for a rescue party, and even if they did; the ship was dead as a doornail, communications out, nothing worked.

"Major!"

John took a last look around the ship. This was it. He pulled the travois that he'd loaded with his pack and McKay's, and walked out.

Once he pulled on the lighter rucksack, he helped McKay shift the other for a quasi pillow, and then he tightened the straps down. As he did it, he saw McKay watching.

"Keep you in place," Sheppard explained. He looked out at the mountainous terrain. "It's going to be rough going until we get off this mountain. I don't want you going over an edge."

"This isn't going to work," said McKay. His face had gradually paled as the pain in his knee had begun to reach unbearable.

John tugged one of the pre-loaded syringes out of his vest pocket, and yanked McKay's sleeve up, driving home the shot.

Rodney yelped, "What's that for?"

"Morphine," said Sheppard. "Nighty night."

McKay stared at John, and Sheppard could see the drug kick in. His eyes drowsed shut, and his face relaxed. "You're going to need it," whispered Sheppard before looking away, and finding the rough trail he was going to follow.

The Jumper had landed probably halfway down, from what John could tell. They were below snow level, at least. In a way, it was a mixed blessing. If they'd been up higher, he could've gotten some snow and melted it for drinking, but then again, much colder and they would've frozen to death.

There weren't any trees. John was struck by the desolate picture around him; the mountain face rose gray and dark behind the wrecked Jumper, an imposing landmark, and two feet away, the ship lay crumpled and broken. He could see the blackened trail it had taken to its final resting place. The Jumper, and Hicks, would forever remain on this scoured piece of rock.

They were at a point where the slope of the mountain was gentle enough to allow them purchase, but steep enough that Sheppard would be surprised if they both didn't end up falling at some point. The ground was littered with small stones, eroded loose over the years from weathering. It was sharp and hard, and he was thankful for his thick boots. He'd need to keep the travois at a decent angle to keep McKay from dragging across the ground and getting bruised. He was going to do his best to scout out a safe descent, but he was worried. And on top of all that, his head pounded with increasing intensity.

He hooked the straps around his shoulders, and began walking, having already gotten the first part scouted. He wasn't sure how long it'd take, or how likely McKay was to sleep through it, but he'd do his best to minimize the pain Rodney had to suffer.

The first hour passed pretty easy, as easy as dragging a dead weight goes. The path was narrow, probably some kind of mountain goat or other animal had worn it into a traceable pattern, but the travois fit with a few inches to spare. It meandered downward, skirting to one edge, and then he'd find another to skirt the other way, going downward in a criss-cross fashion.

John quickly worked up a sweat. His head now ached so badly he fought to keep down a power bar he'd eaten earlier. He figured it might not be a bad idea to stop, and take a breather. He slid out of the harness, and dropped beside McKay, reaching over to check McKay's knee.

The knee was a mess. Grossly swollen, worse than the day before. He knew if Beckett were here, the doctor would tell him the knee probably needed draining. Accumulating fluid was going to drive McKay mad with pain, but that was beyond what basic field care that Sheppard could provide.

John tightened the bandage, pausing when McKay groaned, but finished once he fell silent again. He looked back, and guessed they'd come maybe a mile in the hour. It'd been slow going, and looking down, he began to realize they'd be spending the night on the side of this lonely mountain.

He sighed; time was up. They might not make it off the mountain tonight, but he wanted to do his best, and judging from the clouds gathering on the horizon, it might be a wet night wherever they stopped. He stood, wavering for a moment, before getting his legs solidly under him. He hefted the straps back into place, and began plodding on…

oOo

Two hours later, John was ready to call it a day. He knew it was too early, but he was tired, and now he had come to a spot where he couldn't pick out a safe path down. He needed to go scouting, and he didn't want to leave until McKay had his senses about him.

"McKay!" called Sheppard.

He had found a somewhat sheltered outcropping, and laid the travois down. Rodney could benefit from eating and drinking at this point also, so he needed to get him up and awake.

McKay's eyelids flickered briefly. John shook him, urging him to finish coming out of the drugged sleep. "Come on, get up," said Sheppard.

Rodney's eyes opened a small amount, and then closed. John shook harder. The eyes came back up, and this time they were fully open. They regarded Sheppard with confusion, but he watched as it cleared.

"Where are we?" asked McKay, lifting his head up so he could see.

"The good ship lollypop," answered Sheppard tiredly. "You need to eat something," he said, stating the reason he'd woken McKay.

"You woke me up to feed me?" Rodney asked incredulous. "I was sleeping. It didn't hurt when I was asleep."

"Dying is going to hurt a lot more," John said dryly. "If you don't eat and drink, you die."

"It's only been hours."

"How do you know?" retorted Sheppard. "What if you've been out for a day?"

"Because it hasn't been, Major," McKay snapped. "Why are you being such a jerk?"

Sheppard stared at McKay for a second, before turning away, and yanking the bag out from behind McKay's back. "Because I'm trying to save your ass, and you're snapping at me."

"Who's snapping at who!" retorted McKay, his head falling back in the empty space where the bag had been.

A power bar slapped into his chest. McKay's hand reached for it as it hit, preventing it from falling off. He glared at Sheppard, but John had already looked away.

The clouds were growing darker, and gaining ground. He could smell the approaching storm. He reached for a canteen and took a small sip, recapped it, and tossed it towards McKay.

"I've got to go look for a better trail," he said, still looking troubled at the sky. "You be alright while I'm gone?"

"I think I can handle it," replied McKay.

John turned back and looked at him, growing serious. "McKay, don't try to go anywhere. This area is dangerous. The loose rock will slip underfoot and I don't want you falling and hurting yourself more. I won't be gone long."

McKay glanced at his knee. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I know – just, not even a little bit, okay?"

"I've got it, alright," replied McKay shortly. "I'm not incompetent. I get it. Stay. Good Doctor. Sit. Stay."

Sheppard should've known. Couldn't say a simple thing without getting a smart-ass comment back. He bit back his own nasty reply, and instead gave a slight wave, and started picking his way carefully through the rocks. Smart-ass or not, it was his job to get McKay back in one piece. He only hoped after this was over, they could figure out how to do the same to their friendship.

Sheppard was gone longer than he'd planned, and by the time he got back, the sky was darkening; in part due to the approaching storm, but also dusk was not far on its heels.

"Where the hell were you!" exclaimed McKay, as Sheppard's head appeared over the edge of the rock that was protecting McKay.

Sheppard figured he had that coming. "Sorry, took longer than I planned," he said.

John dropped besides McKay, physically exhausted, and his stomach had finally lost the ability to keep down food when he was making his way back. Definitely had a concussion.

McKay must have realized Sheppard wasn't doing so hot, because he backed off. "Just…don't do it again," he said. "I was worried."

"I know," acknowledged Sheppard. He stared off in the distance and watched lightening flash across the sky. "We're staying the night here. I found a safe way through the next leg, but this storm is coming up fast and there wasn't any better place to ride it out."

McKay didn't say anything for a while. They sat in silence and watched the light show, listened to the soft rumblings grow stronger, and louder as it got nearer. Finally, he spoke. "I've been thinking. You remember that planet with the kids?"

Sheppard kicked his foot out, dislodging a rock from under his calf. "Yeah, what about it?"

McKay had propped himself against the rock, and he had pulled his one good knee up close to his chest. "I think the same thing brought us down."

"How do you figure?" asked Sheppard, pulling his eyes off the sky. "There's no sign that anyone lives on this planet."

"Maybe they died out?" postured McKay.

Sheppard didn't look like he believed it. "Isn't that the point of the EMP field? To keep them alive?"

"An EMP field will protect them from the Wraith," replied McKay. "It won't save them from other things."

"Such as - "

"Plagues would be the obvious, but it could've been any number of things, remember the dinosaurs?"

Sheppard thought the idea of plagues wasn't exactly comforting, but hopefully if that was the reason, it would've died out without any hosts left to propagate in.

"How come this EMP field didn't get caught before?" asked Sheppard, his tone harsh, because the first team to check out the planet should've reported problems. Now, a man was dead, and they were stranded.

McKay gave an angry jerk. "It's not my fault, so don't go looking for an apology."

"I didn't ask for an apology, I just want to know why nobody knew this was going to happen?"

"Because nobody knew, Major," snapped McKay. "For all I know, it might be caused by whatever is creating the aurora borealis phenomena on this planet. That's the whole reason we came on this mission."

Sheppard gathered to reply about scientists and their inability to see past their obsessions, when a sharp pain knocked him back. His hand went up to his head, and he fought a new wave of nausea. He fought it back down.

"What's wrong with you?"

John forced the pain off his face. "Nothing," he said. "Tired." He didn't want McKay's sympathy. He wanted off this God damn rock, and back home. He wanted McKay safe in Beckett's hands, and then, when all that was done, he'd write the letter to Hicks' folks.

McKay didn't say anything to that, though John's lame reply hung heavy in the air between them. Finally, the silence grew too much for Sheppard. He scooted over, and pulled out the blanket, dropping it in McKay's lap.

"Get some sleep," he ordered, and then as another thought occurred, he asked, "Is your knee bad enough for morphine, or will some Tylenol work?"

McKay gritted his teeth as he moved to drape the blanket around his body enough to stay warm. "Tylenol," he said.

Sheppard looked at him for a minute, knowing it was bad enough for morphine, but they both knew the limited supply wasn't going to last. The longer he could hold out, the better. He'd need it in the morning, before Sheppard started dragging him around again. John took out a packet, and handed it to him along with the water.

The fury of the storm had petered out, leaving a steady drizzle falling. It was cold, damp, and probably one of the most miserable nights John could ever recall spending. McKay had slept through most of it, though Sheppard had heard him tossing and turning, as much as his injured knee allowed, more than his fair share as well.

The morning dawned, and it was as wet and rotten as the night before. The rain made the rock slippery, and Sheppard knew this was going to be a harder day than the previous one. He staggered up, his muscles stiff from the poor weather, and found a secluded area to relieve himself.

From what he'd seen yesterday, he guessed barring anything going wrong, they'd get off the mountain today. This last stretch was going to be the worst. If he could get McKay down safely, he hoped the rest would go quicker. He knew they'd send out a rescue team, and he could only hope they could get to the gate first. Maybe Elizabeth would wait, give them extra time because this was such a harmless mission.

John didn't know if they'd get to the gate in the next two days, and any rescue team would face the same dangerous EMP field that had taken their Jumper down. He didn't want anyone else to die.

"Time to go?" asked a sleepy McKay from behind him.

Sheppard turned away from the edge of the trail he'd been standing on, overlooking the plain that lie below; the plain that they were trying to get to. "Yeah," he answered softly, the anger from last night lost in the fatigue and ever-present headache. "Time to go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something.

The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers

Rodney cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable as he stated, "Um...I need to go...ya know."

John resisted the urge to nod his head. He knew that would just send off little explosions of pain in his head. Instead he moved to Rodney, hoisted an arm over his shoulder, then half carried him over to a big rock.

"Call me when you're done," John told him, and headed back to their supplies. He pulled out a power bar and made himself take a bite. But that was all he took. Just chewing it made his stomach roil with nausea and when he swallowed it, John was amazed it actually stayed down. But he knew another bite wouldn't so he wrapped the bar and stuck it one of his vest pockets.

"Ready!" Rodney called out.

"Coming!" John replied. But he had to pause a moment to let a wave of dizziness pass. Then he plodded back over to Rodney and helped him get settled on the travois. "Eat," John said, dumping a power bar on him.

Rodney opened it and took a bite. "What about you?"

John didn't look at Rodney as he replied. "Already ate." It wasn't' really a lie, since he did take a bite. He then set about slipping on his backpack before strapping Rodney in.

By then McKay was finished with his power bar and John handed him one of the canteens. "Ready?" he asked, when Rodney handed it back.

"No...not really." Rodney shifted on the travois and hissed, hands moving to grip his thigh hard.

"Shot time," John said, as he pulled out the syringe. They had six left. It was telling to him that McKay pulled up his own sleeve. John knew he was in agony and he wished there was more he could do. But for now he gave Rodney the injection then watched him slip into unconsciousness. John pocketed the empty syringe then took a swig from the canteen before strapping it on his belt. Then he moved to pick up the harness straps, slipped them on, and began walking.

It was harder today in every way. Harder to keep his footing on the wet slope. Harder to pull McKay's weight. Harder to stay focused, and a lot harder to ignore the pain in his head. But John was determined. He was going to get McKay down the mountain before they holed up for the night.

When he had done his scouting yesterday he had noticed an outcropping of rock at the bottom, which looked like it shaded a shallow cave. So if it rained they would at least be drier. Even with the day heating up, John felt cold and clammy in his still damp clothes.

John knew it was bad when he resorted to humming commercial jingles just to get his mind off the ache in his head. And to keep himself trudging on. One foot in front of the other, until he slipped and went down hard on his ass, skidding down a few feet before he was able to stop himself and he felt the travois slam into him and his first concern was McKay. John slid off the harness and turned to examine the other man. Amazingly, other than moaning a bit, Rodney didn't stir.

Relief and nausea washed over John, and he took what happened as a sign he needed to rest. He settled Rodney so that the travois wouldn't slide, then he stumbled off behind a rock to relieve himself. He used a wipe to clean his hands of a layer of dirt, only to find himself bending over and emptying what little he had in his stomach. By the time the dry heaves ended, John's head ached so badly it felt like it my fall off any moment. He almost wished it would.

Time was ticking away from them, but John had no choice but to sit and let a new wave of dizziness pass. And he realized he must have blacked out for a moment because when he opened his eyes he was laying on his side and everything was blurry until he blinked it into focus. His head still ached but the nausea had passed for the moment, so John stood up on shaky legs and made his way back to McKay. A quick pulse check and John was satisfied that Rodney was okay. Or as okay as he could be, given the circumstances. He picked up the harness, slid it over his shoulders, and started walking once more. He was going to make it down the mountain.

oOo

Rodney felt something hit him on the cheek. He winced and tried to ignore it, but there it was again so he raised a hand to bat it away. "Stop it," he whined

"Wake up, Rodney. Suppertime." John tried to infuse his voice with a bit of cheerfulness, but had the feeling he failed. But at least McKay's eyes were opening.

"What...what time is it?" Rodney asked, as he blinked hard and looked around.

John glanced at his watch, but it was cracked and had stopped working some time yesterday. "Don't know. But I bet you have to go the bathroom. And you need to eat. So let's go." In truth, John was glad that Rodney had slept so long. In a minute the pain would kick in and it was hard to watch someone suffering. It made him feel helpless, and John hated feeling that way.

Rodney tried to help Sheppard haul him to his feet. The pain in his knee was agony, and he wanted to go back to the sweet, pain free darkness. But he did have to go. As they hobbled over to a nearby rock, he noticed something. "We made it to the bottom."

"Yeah." That was all John had the energy to say. He felt like a wrung out dishrag. Everything ached, his head felt like someone was stabbing him with white-hot knives and the lack of food was making him light headed in a different way. Yet for all that it was the constant feeling of nausea that bothered him most. At least at the moment.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, as he levered himself away from Sheppard. The major looked like hell. Covered in a layer of dirt and grime, and his beard was filling in, but for all that he was still pale and he looked shaky and Rodney was starting to get worried. If Sheppard went out for the count, they were doomed.

John managed a half smile. "I'm good. Call me," he said, then he slipped away. It was time to set up camp. He had been right about the shallow cave. It was big enough to hold them and their supplies without cramping them too badly. John felt a bit more optimistic. It wasn't much, but it was something that was in their favor, so he would take it as a good sign.

Rodney took care of business, cleaning his hands with the wipe Sheppard had left him, then he called out, "Ready!"

A moment later the major was there, taking the bulk of Rodney's weight against his lean frame. As Rodney let his arm slip around Sheppard's waist for support he realized the man felt thinner. It had only been two days so that was not a good sign. But Rodney kept his mouth shut, letting Sheppard guide him into their shelter. It wasn't much but it made Rodney feel a little bit safer. Luckily they seemed to be alone here. No bad guys and no vicious animals, but better safe than sorry.

"Eat," John said, tossing Rodney a power bar.

"You too," Rodney countered. 

John held up his opened power bar and made a show of taking a bite. Big mistake. His stomach clenched and a moment later he was scrabbling for the entrance and puking.

Rodney listened to the sound of retching and winced. He stared at his power bar then set it aside. A moment later Sheppard came back in and Rodney stared at him. "You have a concussion." It wasn't a question but rather a simple statement of fact.

"I'm fine," John replied, because he knew what McKay was implying. He felt dizzy and his vision was a bit blurry, but he still noticed the power bar on the ground. "Eat!" John hissed, regretting being so loud when the pain in his head spiked.

"This is so not good," Rodney fretted, but he reached for the power bar, peeled it, and took a bite.

John rubbed his eyes, which felt hot and gritty, then he whispered, "Go to sleep."

Rodney finished his food then reached for the canteen that Sheppard had, thoughtfully, left beside him. He took a long swallow then asked, "Can I have some Tylenol?"

"Sorry." John had forgotten about it. He dug the bottle out of the pack and held it out. He watched Rodney take a couple then accepted the bottle back and stuffed it in the pack. "Go to sleep," John repeated.

"You can't sleep!" Rodney heard the panic in his own voice. Sleeping and concussions did not go together.

John wasn't in the mood to argue. "I'm tired, I'm sleeping. Shut up."

Rodney was quiet for all of ten seconds. "You can't do this," he stated.

"Sure I can...it's easy. Or would be if you would shut up." John let his eyes close, and tried to ignore the ache in his head.

"No...I'm not talking about sleeping. I'm talking about this stupid trek to the gate." Rodney shifted, bit back a moan, and shot a glare at Sheppard's back. "You can't get us back, major."

John felt a flare of anger. He sat up, moving carefully, and faced Rodney with fury flashing in his eyes. "I will get us back, Rodney. So fuck you!"

Rodney shook his head. "Face facts, Major. We're going to die."

"Shut up!" John was on his knees, shifting forward so he and Rodney were face to face. "We're not dead yet! You hear me? So shut the fuck up!"

And all that yelling was a big mistake. John clutched his head and wondered if maybe it was about to fall off. He heard Rodney shouting at him but the words were a garbled mass of white noise and then everything went black.

"Major!" Rodney watched as Sheppard crumpled over and went still. He reached out and was able to press his fingers to Sheppard's throat, but his hand was shaking so bad it took Rodney a few minutes to find a pulse. Relief washed over him, followed closely by panic. He had to wake Sheppard up. So Rodney patted the major's cheek. Lightly at first, then harder, then he started calling his name.

John heard someone shouting his name and it took a moment to realize it was Rodney. A very scared, and pissed off sounding, Rodney. John forced his eyes open, blinking hard to bring everything into focus. He pressed a hand to his forehead, willing the ache to stop. Then John remembered why Rodney was pissed at him.

"Whether or not I slept with Chaya is none of your damn business, McKay!" John blurted out as he pushed himself upright.

Rodney blinked at Sheppard, wondering what the hell he was talking about. Then it hit him. Concussions caused disorientation and short term memory loss. All the same, mention of Chaya made Rodney's hackles rise and he bit back a sharp retort in favor of replying, "That's old news, major."

"What?" John suddenly realized that he didn't know where he was, and panic flared as he scrabbled to his feet, only to list sideways so that he had to put out a hand on the wall to support himself. A cold, damp, rocky wall.

"Where...Rodney..." But even as he asked, it slipped back into place where he was and why. John slid down to the ground, raised his knees and buried his face in them. He had been thinking about Chaya. He thought about her a lot, and about how she had caused a wedge in his friendship with Rodney. John hated that, but now was not the time to deal with it.

"You okay?" Rodney asked, as he tried to shift closer.

John took a shuddery breath then raised his head and managed a shaky grin. "I'm okay. Sorry I zoned out on you."

Rodney nodded. "Just...try not to do it again."

"I'll do my best." John rubbed his eyes then asked, "Do you need anything?" He wanted to get Rodney settled in for the night. They both needed to rest as much as they could.

"I have to pee," Rodney stated.

John frowned at that. "You just went."

Rodney glared at him. "Well I have to go again." He was relieved when Sheppard got up and came over to help him up. He wanted the major up and moving. He needed to stay awake for a little while at least.

Sleeping with a concussion was a bad thing, but Rodney knew Sheppard would have to rest at some point. He couldn't stay awake for days on end. Plus Rodney knew that the major was determined to haul him across the plains to the gate. Wherever the hell it might be. So, to that end, Rodney limped outside the cave and emptied his bladder again. Then he let Sheppard help him back inside and they settled in for the night.

"Need anything else?" John asked, as he curled up under his jacket. He was so damn tired, and his entire body ached. His head hurt so badly that he felt nauseous again, and a part of John felt like crying. But he wouldn't allow himself that bit of weakness. He couldn't afford it. Not now. When they made it back to Atlantis he would hole up in his room and cry himself a river.

"No...I'm good," Rodney replied. He shifted about, trying to get comfortable, willing the Tylenol to kick in. He knew Sheppard had to be hurting as much as he was, but Rodney knew it wouldn't be good for him to take anything for it. But the one thing Rodney could do to try and help, because for the most part he was feeling pretty useless right now and that didn't sit well at all, was keep Sheppard awake. And he could do that by talking.

So Rodney did just that. He kept up a rambling monologue, tossing in enough questions so that Sheppard was forced to reply. But after a time Rodney noticed that the major wasn't responding and that his curled up form had gone still. "Major?" Hand shaking, Rodney checked for a pulse. It was a bit rapid but solid and he sighed with relief. 

Rodney leaned his head back and closed his eyes. But a moment later he popped them open then propped himself upright. Sheppard was taking them home, so the least Rodney could do was keep watch over him. But in spite of his best intentions, Rodney drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_I wish none of this had ever happened…_

_So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you._

The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring

Sheppard woke slowly, his mind grudgingly shaking away the last cobwebs of sleep. He groaned, despite himself, because if he thought he felt bad yesterday, it wasn't close to how bad he felt this morning. Sleeping on rock wasn't a prescription for skeletal health - in fact, he couldn't remember when he'd last hurt this much in so many different places.

It was morning; he could tell by the fingers of weak light creeping into the mouth of the shallow cave they'd taken refuge in yesterday. The memories from the night before were brutal. He'd been sick; McKay had been angry, and he'd lashed out thinking he was back in Atlantis and had been confronted over Chaya.

They'd pushed past that, but he knew McKay didn't believe they'd make it out of this alive. For all that he'd come to think of Rodney as a good friend, the man had a doom and gloom nature that cast a pall over Sheppard's normal optimist side.

He pulled himself upright, resting his back against the rocky wall. It was damp and cold through his shirt, and he shivered, wishing for sunlight. So far the weather had been unaccommodating; rainy, wet and dismal. It wasn't helping McKay's frame of mind, and it was beginning to take it's due from Sheppard as well.

"You up?" McKay's tired voice asked from the shadowy area across from Sheppard.

Sheppard grinned, funny how people took comfort in stating the obvious when everything else was feathers in the wind. "You could call it that," said Sheppard.

Neither said anything for a few minutes; both resting, and coming to grips with another grueling day ahead. Finally, McKay broke the silence. "We should probably get going; cover more ground that way."

Sheppard took it for what it was, a peace offering. It was as close to McKay saying 'I'm sorry' as he'd ever get. He knew that Sheppard's plan was the only way they stood a chance in hell of getting off this rock alive. If Atlantis did mount a rescue, they'd be as dead in the water as their own Jumper had been.

Sheppard climbed to his feet, holding on to the cave wall long enough to fight back the familiar wave of dizziness. "Be right back," he said, heading outside. Nature was calling him first.

When he was finished, he helped McKay deal with his own issues. Soon, he had the travois packed, and McKay settled. He went to withdraw another syringe of morphine, but McKay shook his head.

"Not yet," said McKay. "Tired of sleeping all day, and all night."

Sheppard looked at him, and noticed the sunken appearance of his face. It wasn't good to keep someone drugged without medical support from an IV, and he didn't want McKay to get addicted either. He slipped it back in the vest pocket saying, "Okay, but Tylenol then."

McKay took the pills with a short nod of thanks, and downed it with a sip of water. The canteen sloshed with the movement; both men very aware of how little remained.

Sheppard took the canteen from McKay, and took a small drink. Not enough for his body, but he knew that McKay's injury was causing a slight increase in temperature and metabolism, as his body worked to repair the damage. He'd dehydrate faster than Sheppard.

He handed the canteen back to McKay, and surveyed the flat land before them. There were clouds skudded across the sky, deep reds, and Sheppard mentally repeated the rhyme he'd heard as a kid: red skies in the morning, sailor take warning. Fairy tales, still – the land was open, dotted only infrequently by low leafy trees. The grass grew tall and thick, and it'd be hard work pulling the travois.

"You're going to get us lost, aren't you?" asked McKay, looking across at the meadow ahead as well.

"How can I get us lost?" retorted Sheppard. He started walking, the momentum of the initial drag jerking McKay against the straps. He muttered to himself, "I don't even know where we are."

Truthfully, he had an idea. They'd flown towards the mountain, and he planned on backtracking as the crow flies. He didn't think they'd crossed over to the other side before crashing, which meant they were on the gate side of the mountain. It was a matter of walking back the path they'd flown. Easier said then done, but that was the plan.

He fell into a rhythm of counting steps, and was relieved that McKay was lost in his own thoughts and leaving him to his. That little blow-up in the cave last night wasn't sitting well with him. He was mad at McKay, but he didn't want to get into it with him here. Chaya had driven a wedge between them, and he knew eventually they'd probably manage to kick it back out, but right now survival was the issue, not repairing a friendship.

"Major," called McKay. "Break -"

Sheppard stopped pulling, and looked over his shoulder. McKay was sweating, and struggling to keep still. He eased the travois harness off his shoulder and lowered McKay till he was resting flat on the ground.

"Bad?" asked Sheppard, indicating the knee.

McKay nodded. Sheppard thought he looked like hell. He went to withdraw the morphine, but McKay stilled his hand with a look. "No, I mean it. Not right now."

"You're going to pass out," said Sheppard.

"Then let me," gritted McKay.

Sheppard stood over McKay, tired, and dispirited. McKay didn't want the morphine, but it was clear he was in agony. He peered across the empty meadow, his eyes scanning for anything that could help. There was a hard breeze blowing across, whipping the grass into undulating green snakes. With his face to the wind, it blew his hair about, and dried the sweat, cooling him down.

There! He saw what looked like a creek bank ahead. The grass swelled up and then dropped off. If the water was cold –

"Hang on, McKay," said Sheppard, pulling the straps over his shoulder.

McKay nodded mutely, too lost in his pain to ask what Sheppard had in mind. What had looked like a short distance, soon meandered into an hour, and by the time Sheppard pulled the travois with McKay alongside the bank, McKay was barely alert of his surroundings.

Sheppard quickly stripped his t-shirt off, and soaked it in the water, relieved to find it was cool, run-off from the mountain they'd descended from. He knelt by McKay and tugged away the material, revealing the thick damaged knee bound up with the brown elastic bandage. He unwound it, apologizing for the pain, and wrapped the cold makeshift compress around the injured joint.

It wasn't instantaneous relief, but soon the icy water worked through the hot inflamed tissue, and numbed the area. McKay's breathing evened out, and he began to take notice of where they were. He looked at the creek, and then down at his knee.

"That's amazing," he said. "I hardly feel a thing!"

Sheppard nodded, and gently tugged off the t-shirt wrap, dipping it again into the water, recooling the material that had been heated by McKay's knee. He rewrapped it, and dropped thankfully beside McKay, laying flat against the soft ground.

He'd pushed himself hard to get here, hoping to ease McKay's pain, but now his own was rearing its ugly head, and he realized they'd both forgotten to eat something this morning.

"Hungry?" he asked McKay, not moving for the food.

McKay shook his head, before saying, "Not really, but we should eat, shouldn't we? It's bad to skip meals in a situation like this -"

"Yes, it's bad," agreed Sheppard, still not moving for the food.

"Later then," said McKay, realizing that Sheppard wasn't up for it, and neither was he, so why force it?

Sheppard barely nodded, so tired that he was slowly drifting into a drowse. "Later," he slurred thickly.

McKay thought about keeping the Major awake, but he knew the toll of dragging him was great, and with him suffering a concussion on top of the physical exertion; it was a small miracle Sheppard was on his feet, let alone caring for McKay and trying to get them back home. He sighed, and managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Sheppard had loosened the straps when they'd stopped at the creek.

He'd just watch for a little while, let Sheppard have his nap –

oOo

"McKay!"

Sheppard shook him, frustrated. He'd woken only to find the sun beginning to drift lazily down behind the horizon. McKay was snoring next to him, but the t-shirt had long since dried, and he knew when McKay did wake up, his knee would be an immediate painful reminder of their situation.

He wasn't disappointed. McKay's eyes opened, and then slammed shut with a loud groan. "Damn," swore Rodney, reaching down to grab the throbbing area.

Sheppard scowled; he wanted to be pissed, but instead he felt worry. "You fell asleep," he said. He struggled to his feet, and dipped the elastic bandage into the creek. It wouldn't last, but it'd help. Once it was good and cold, and Sheppard's hands along with it, he rewrapped McKay's knee, tugging the pants material back in place the best he could.

"Sorry," offered McKay, his voice glum.

"We'll both be if it starts raining before we can find shelter," said Sheppard. He cupped a hand over his eyes, scanning for anything ahead that they could camp the night under with some form of protection.

McKay snorted. "If rain was our only worry -"

"You're right about that," observed Sheppard. When McKay looked towards him, he gestured at the creek. "Looks like we've got to cross this."

"How wide?" asked McKay, thinking maybe they could use the travois as a bridge.

"Wide enough," said Sheppard. Too wide for what McKay was thinking. He looked away from the gently running water, and down at McKay. "I'll take our stuff across, then we'll get you over."

After Sheppard got McKay off the travois, he loaded their bags, and hefted it over his head, and stepped into the frigid water. The shock was painful, but halfway across, the numbness kicked in, and he stumbled on the other side, falling hard. The supplies rolled forward, luckily away from the water's edge.

"What's wrong?" shouted McKay, seeing Sheppard fall.

"Nothing," Sheppard called back, managing to pull his lower body out. He'd need to get some feeling back before he returned for McKay. "Just numb."

He laid on the other side of the bank for a good ten minutes, before shivering, he got back to his feet, and waded across for McKay. He stooped down, letting Rodney grab on to his shoulder, and slowly straightened, the weight of McKay, his concussion, and the cold causing him to stagger.

"Maybe we should wait," said McKay. "I don't need you passing out when we're halfway across."

"I'm not passing out," grouched Sheppard.

Together, they fumbled into the water. McKay sucked air in through clenched teeth. "Oh, that's cold," he said.

"Don't worry, in a few minutes you won't feel a thing," reassured Sheppard.

"And that's a good thing?"

"Compared to right now, yes," he retorted.

It took longer, trying to wade two bodies across, compared to one, but soon they were lying on the grass besides their gear, dripping into the soil and shivering like crazy.

"We n…need t…to war…m u…p," chattered McKay.

Sheppard was past shivering, and that scared McKay. He rolled up as far as he could and dug in the gear, finding matches. "Sheppard, you need to start a fire," he ordered.

"There's no fire," said Sheppard, confused. He struggled to stay awake, but he was so cold.

"I know that," McKay said patiently. "We need one, and I can't get wood; Major, I need you to get up, and gather some wood," he looked worriedly at Sheppard. "You can do that, can't you?"

Sheppard nodded groggily. He could get wood. There were more trees on this side of the creek, and they grew thicker with each step. He got up, staggered, and stumbled towards the trees. It was a darkening sky, and he grabbed anything that looked like wood, before carrying it over to McKay and letting it fall from his clumsy hands.

"Wood?"

McKay nodded soberly, "Wood."

It was a reach, but McKay started building up a pile of smaller sticks. Once he had it to his satisfaction, he started adding larger, and larger, till he figured it was enough. He glanced over and noticed Sheppard was staring over his head, dazed.

"Help me light it," McKay said, trying to draw Sheppard out of his fugue.

Sheppard tried to help, and by then McKay had stopped shivering as well. They managed to coax a thin flame into fruition, which steadily built, and the roaring fire lit the darkness.

Nobody talked; they sat in front of the fire, letting the heat seep into their bones. Soon, they had warmed up enough to realize they needed to strip out of their wet clothes and get under the blanket.

Sheppard helped McKay, before working on his own. Once he was down to his underwear, he laid both of their pants and shirts out flat to dry, and scrunched close to McKay under the thermal blanket.

Occasionally, he'd go off and retrieve more wood. Long into the night, he let the fire dwindle. The air had a small chill, but not enough that it was uncomfortable now that they'd recovered from their earlier bout with threatening hypothermia.

"Look," whispered McKay.

Sheppard startled; he'd thought McKay had drifted to sleep earlier. He rolled his head, and looked at the heavens, where McKay was pointing. What he saw took his breath away. It was as if an artist had taken a thick paintbrush, and dipped into a rainbow palette, and stroked in a fine curvy line across the stars. The colors moved like light across a crystal prism, and the sky wore its coat of many colors like a proud son of the universe.

"That's -" Sheppard struggled for the right words "- wow."

"Aurora borealis," said McKay, "Though technically, that's not the right name, since it was named to mean 'the dawn of the north', and I don't suppose we're -"

"McKay," interrupted Sheppard.

"What?"

"Shut-up."

McKay sighed, "Shutting up." For now, it was right- the quiet, the peace, and the beauty.

They drifted asleep, both too tired and injured to consider keeping watch. Neither had eaten, both had barely drank the entire day. Their bodies were battered, and worn, and the morning was going to bring new struggles, but for tonight – tonight they were caressed in a moment that they'd forever remember, assuming they managed to live through this, lulled to sleep by an amazing vista of night lights, and the soft dying crackles of the dwindling fire.

oOo

Sheppard woke first. He was thirsty, and hungry. His stomach cramped painfully. He rolled, and instantly regretted it. The world spun shakily, and so did his stomach.

He got to his knees, and worked his way to his feet, crashing through the ashes of the previous nights fire, before lurching far enough from their sleeping area. He heaved, bringing up nothing but bile, because there was nothing to bring up.

When he was finished, he reeled back to the blanket. McKay watched him, his face normally an open book, closed and locked with a finality that bothered Sheppard.

"You need to eat," he said.

"Why?" asked Sheppard wearily. "It'll just waste food."

"Because I'm depending on you to get me home, and if you don't eat, you won't make it," said McKay bluntly.

Sheppard winced. It was the one thing he could've said that would've made a difference, and McKay knew it. Sheppard reached for the pack with the food, and drew out two power bars, tossing one to McKay before ripping the package open on his.

"We're going to make it," asserted Sheppard, and he took a bite. He chewed it warily; afraid it'd come up faster than it went down. Surprisingly, it settled without complaint, and he tentatively took another bite.

"Sure we are," agreed McKay. He chewed his own food, and pointed at the canteen for a drink.

Sheppard tossed it over, and took another bite, but this time it didn't settle so well, and he wisely wrapped the package shut, and pushed the remains into his vest for later. He'd gotten a few bites down; that was better than none.

After McKay had taken a couple long drinks, he tossed it back to Sheppard, who downed a small amount. There was probably another days left, if they were careful. Not enough to see them back to the gate, he figured.

"You think the water is safe?" Sheppard asked, pointing at the creek.

"Probably not," said McKay, looking at the happily gurgling water. "This planets electromagnetism is different than ours; even than most of the planets in this galaxy."

"But if we're going to die anyway -"

"Then it's worth a shot," agreed McKay. "But I wouldn't until it got down to it."

"Then let's hope it doesn't get down to it," said Sheppard, standing reluctantly. He took an empty canteen from their supplies and filled it up. He made sure the cap was on tight, and tucked it back in a bag. It'd only be used if it came down to drinking or dying.

The day had dawned hours ago, and they'd slept through it. He straightened the canvas on the travois from where it'd hitched up when he'd fallen carrying it yesterday. "Got to go?" he asked McKay.

McKay shook his head. Neither did Sheppard, and that wasn't a good sign. They didn't have to go because there wasn't any waste to process out. Their bodies were going to start cannibalizing their own muscle and tissue to fuel them.

They quickly slid into their now dry clothes. "How's the knee?" he asked, as he helped ease McKay onto the travois, after helping him with the harder task of getting his pants on. He could see McKay was in pain, but the cold water seemed to have helped a little.

"It's been worse," he admitted honestly.

Sheppard was surprised by the change in McKay. Before, he could've bet on McKay's over dramatizing the injury, and whining from sunrise to sunset. Sheppard supposed it was a testament to how serious their situation was.

McKay, in turn, was studying Sheppard. "How's the head?"

Sheppard's head was hurting like a bastard. He grimaced, "It's worse, but I'll live."

McKay didn't say anything, and Sheppard wondered if maybe he shouldn't have been so honest. What's done is done, he might as well get moving. He didn't bother with the straps; there weren't any cliffs for McKay to fall off.

"Keep an eye out for any animals," Sheppard ordered, as he began tugging McKay towards the forest.

"You think there's going to be animals?"

"It's a forest. I'd be surprised, and a little worried if there weren't any." Sheppard was beginning to find the lack of fauna on this planet bothersome. If animals couldn't survive, it wasn't looking good for their own odds, and it made the water in the canteen all the more undesirable.

As they moved under the tree cover, the silence became deafening. There weren't the catcalls from birds, or the chattering of insects. There wasn't anything but the muffled sounds of the travois dragging against deadfall.

"McKay," asked Sheppard conversationally. "If there are plants on a world; wouldn't that indicate animals?"

"Unless some kind of catastrophe happened, yes," said McKay. He was lying on his back, and taking the opportunity to study the sky. The whole reason they'd come was because of the planets unique electromagnetic storms. Now that he was thinking about it; the color of the daytime sky wasn't what you'd think of as typical. In fact, it seemed too bright.

"Radiation?" asked Sheppard, unknowingly echoing McKay's thoughts.

"Maybe," McKay agreed. "It could explain why there's still plant life. They'd probably adapt and manage to live longer, and it'd depend on what kind of radiation."

"We need to get off this planet."

McKay closed his eyes. Things just had a way of getting worse lately. "I'd go along with that."

Sheppard had a sudden realization that it was likely they were going to die on this world. He gave a small chuckle; it was incongruous with how he'd always thought he'd go. Old age, he'd contemplated that one – shot, that had been a likely possibility, but dying of radiation poisoning on an alien world in another galaxy – not even a figment of his imagination could've cropped that one into his mind.

"What's funny?" asked McKay, wanting to share the joke, because humor was something sorely lacking in this situation.

Sheppard pondered how to explain it without sounding morbid. "Did you ever stop to think how you'd die?"

"Not really," answered McKay. "People grow old; their cells stop regenerating efficiently, the body dies." He shifted on the canvas, trying to ease the building pressure in his knee. The cold therapy was wearing off now that they were closed under the leafy canopy, and the temperature had begun to rise. "I suppose there are the 'other than natural' causes; car accidents, muggings, your parachute failing to open -"

Sheppard stopped, and turned to look at McKay. "What?" he exclaimed. "A parachute? What are the odds of that? You're more likely to win the lottery than die from a faulty parachute!"

"And how would you know?" snapped McKay. "Besides, winning the lottery is a lot less painful, and no one dies from a winning ticket."

Sheppard shrugged, and said, "Unless someone kills you for it."

"Good point."

Sheppard returned to trudging forward, when McKay asked him, "What about you? You never said how you thought you'd die."

"I've thought of a lot of different ways, but never this," replied Sheppard. He grunted as the travois caught on a rock. He pulled forward harder, and found himself flying forward, and hitting hard.

McKay had rolled off, and found himself face first in the mulched earth. "Are you okay?" he mumbled, spitting out decayed leaves.

Sheppard had just one short moment where he thought of snapping back that he wasn't okay. He was thirsty, his head pounded, his shoulders and back had begun to hurt in ways he'd never imagined, and he thought he was going to throw up. The stupid travois had been pulling rough across the forest, and he'd be damned if any of this was going to stop him.

"I'm fine," he said shortly. He got back to his feet, and righted the rig. "Your ride awaits," he said, attempting a mock bow, and almost falling flat on his face in the process.

"Maybe we should take a short break," McKay said. He wasn't feeling so hot himself, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe a shot of morphine wouldn't hit the spot.

He'd been holding off as long as he could; trying to keep Sheppard company, but as hard as the travois had been for Sheppard to pull; it had jarred McKay's knee unbearably hard, every single root and rock.

Sheppard was watching him critically. He finally slipped into the harness. "Just a little more," he offered for explanation. "Rest won't do us any good if we die here."

So, Sheppard stumbled on. And when he came to a halt, McKay had almost fallen into a doze. He could hardly think straight anymore from the pain, and he was beginning to feel like begging for an end to this wouldn't be unmanly.

"We there?" asked McKay, not sure if he meant the gate, or time for a break, or what. He needed water, and food, and if he needed it that bad, he knew Sheppard needed it more.

"No," answered Sheppard, his voice flat.

The reason for the flatness was staring at Sheppard like a slap in the face. Or, better yet, like another nail in their coffin. Stretched out before them was a canyon – a very deep canyon. He stared, and wondered at all the rotten luck, because there was no going across it. They'd have to go around, which meant either heading up, or down, and following it till they could get across.

"McKay, do you have a quarter?" he asked casually.

McKay narrowed his eyes, craning his head to look at Sheppard. He patted his pockets, and felt for change. They didn't need money on Atlantis, but they had poker games and used small change. He felt something, so he stuck his hand, and withdrew the silver coin. "Will a nickel do?"

"Yeah, it'll do. Heads or tails," said Sheppard, reaching around and taking the nickel from McKay. Heads, they'd follow the canyon north. Tails, they'd go south.

"Tails," said McKay, not sure he wanted to know what this was about.

Sheppard flipped the coin, and catching it as it came back down, slapped it against the top of his left hand. "Tails it is," he said. "We go south."

As Sheppard veered in the direction, McKay got his first look at the gaping chasm, cut violently into the ground, as if a God wielding a large butcher knife had carved into the flesh of the world. He closed his eyes. They were definitely going to die here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Then let us be rid of it, once and for all. Come on, Mr. Frodo – I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!

The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King

He heard voices. Annoying voices. Annoying because they echoed too loud in his head, making words hard to understand. So he ignored them as he plodded on, focusing only on putting one foot in front of the other. He wasn't sure where he was going, nor did it seem to matter. He just kept walking because he knew he couldn't stop. Step after step after step...

"JOHN!"

That startled him enough that he froze. He recognized the voice. McKay's voice. But McKay never called him John. Never. He tried to turn around but something caught at him and John realized it was the straps on his shoulders. He shrugged them off then turned around to find Rodney glaring at him.

In that moment everything snapped back into place, hard. Making John almost reel from it and he fell to his knees. His legs felt like rubber and every muscle in his body ached and burned. "What's wrong?" John asked, and his voice came out broken and hoarse. His mouth felt so dry, but they had to save water.

Rodney eyed Sheppard with concern. "We have to stop for the night, Major," he stated. "You passed by what looked like some kind of shelter about ten minutes ago. I tried to get you to stop."

"Didn't hear you," John whispered, as he pressed the heel of one hand to his forehead. It felt as if someone were stabbing him there with a long, white-hot blade. The pain was so intense it made him feel nauseous and just the thought of it was enough to send John scrabbling off to the side so he could retch. But there was nothing in his stomach to bring up but a bit of bile. His body convulsed with dry heaves and the shudders that racked him made his head hurt all the more. 

"Major?" Rodney watched Sheppard's bent over form. Watched the slim body rock with wave after wave of retching and it made him feel sick and sympathetic. "You okay?" Rodney called out, when Sheppard didn't respond.

John fought the dizziness that threatened to lay him out flat. He crawled over to McKay and whispered, "Water."

Rodney handed him the canteen and watched as Sheppard rinsed his mouth, spit, then took a tiny sip. "Better?"

"Where...where's the shelter?" It sapped his energy, just asking the question. Because John knew he would have to haul Rodney back the way they came and he didn't want to move again. Not ever.

"Back over there." Rodney twisted and pointed.

John turned to look and realized something. He had been veering away from the canyon and moving deeper into the wooded area. He didn't remember doing that. He had to be more careful, more focused, or they would be worse off than they already were.

Rodney seemed to read his mind. "We can still see the canyon and I think it's safer in the woods. The canopy is thick and it looks like rain."

"Yeah." John didn't look up, it would only make his head hurt worse, not that he figured it could hurt any worse than it already did. But he had been proven wrong in the past. Besides which, Rodney was a genius and if he said it was safer in here, then John was going to believe him. At least for now. Until he could think straight again.

For the moment his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, and that his thoughts were slim threads all tangled up inside it. Pushing up to his feet, John shrugged the harness back on and turned the travois around. "Tell me when to stop," he ordered, then he trudged on.

"Here!" Rodney called out, a short time later. "See? It looks like a little hut. Without a door or, actually, without a front wall either but --"

"A lean to," John interjected. He slipped the harness off then moved to help Rodney to his feet. "Time to pee." 

Rodney nodded. "Good idea." Neither of them had gone yet today. Not a good sign. He leaned heavily on the major as they moved to a tree a bit of a ways from the shelter. They remained together as they took care of nature this time. Rodney was relieved. He was rather afraid to let Sheppard out of his sight. The man looked like death warmed over. They headed back to the shelter and got settled in. Rodney pulled the wipes from the backpack and offered one to Sheppard.

John accepted it and wiped his face then his hands. He felt gritty in a way that he was pretty sure the dirt and sweat was ground in to the bone. It would take a dozen showers under scalding hot water to ever feel clean again. Clean and warm. John realized he was shivering. 

"Supper time," Rodney announced, after scrounging around in the backpack again. That was one thing they had enough of. Power bars. And right now Sheppard needed about a dozen of them. Rodney was sure the major had already dropped a couple of pounds. He couldn't afford to lose any.

"Later," John replied, as he pulled out their blanket. He spread one over Rodney then thought about starting a fire, but just then it started to pour. Which meant wet wood. Which meant...no fire.

Rodney tossed a power bar in Sheppard's lap. "You have to eat, Major."

John thought about arguing but he didn't have the energy, and he knew Rodney was right. But he tossed the power bar back and dug into his vest pocket for the half eaten one from this morning. John took a small bite and swallowed cautiously. So far so good. It was staying down.

After wolfing down his own supper, Rodney watched Sheppard. He could see the man was shivering. The major's teeth were just about chattering. His skin was pale beneath the dirt and grime, his dark hair was plastered down by sweat, and his bloodshot eyes were dark with pain. Rodney wished he could give Sheppard a shot of morphine. He felt so damn helpless. Sheppard was in a bad way and yet he was doing everything in his power to get them back home. Rodney knew he was a dead weight. Without him along, Sheppard probably would have made it to the gate by now. He'd be home and clean and safe in Atlantis.

"Do you need morphine?" John asked, as he shuffled closer to Rodney. It was getting dark and soon they wouldn't be able to see each other. But right now McKay looked gray and in pain.

"Just Tylenol," Rodney countered. His knee hurt like a bastard, but he was almost getting used to it. And tonight he had every intention of watching over the major. Sheppard had to be okay or they lost whatever chance they had, however slim, of making it back to Atlantis.

John got the Tylenol and crawled over to Rodney's side. He held out his hand.

Rodney had to grip Sheppard's wrist to keep him from dumping the pills. He was shaking that hard. "I'm cold," Rodney said, suddenly.

"Cold?" John felt so tired and his head was so fuzzy that he was slow to follow the change of subject.

"Yes...cold," Rodney repeated. He paused to take the pills with a sip of water, then he made a show of hugging his arms around himself. He couldn't do much to help overall, but he could try and warm Sheppard up. He would just have to be sneaky about it.

Without hesitation, John offered Rodney his blanket. "Here." He started to spread it over McKay only to have it tossed back at him."

Rodney shook his head. "That's not good enough. We need to share body heat."

"What?" John stared at two Rodneys for a moment. Then he blinked hard and they melded into one again.

"Come here." Rodney realized it would be easier to give Sheppard orders to follow. Not that the major was one to follow orders from Rodney, but they had both learned to listen to each other when it mattered. He figured it mattered now that Sheppard listen to him. "Come here," Rodney repeated, impatiently.

John blinked again then moved closer. He let Rodney position him, sitting up, with his back against the wall. Then Rodney was shifting and John moved to help him. "What are you doing?"

Rodney bit back a cry of pain as his knee was jolted by his movement, then he gritted out, "Trying...to get...between...your legs." And the moment it was out he realized what he'd said and was horrified.

The look on McKay's face, more than the words he'd said, struck John as funny. But his laughter died out quick because it made his head hurt, which made him nauseous. Breathlessly he replied, "All you had to do was ask." And he teased Rodney because they both needed the distraction.

"It's good to know I'm stranded in the middle of hell with a twelve year old, major," Rodney shot back, with aggrieved dignity.

"Anytime." John understood what Rodney was trying to do now so he shifted his legs and helped McKay get settled. After a moment Rodney's back was against John's chest and he felt warmer.

Rodney shifted to get as comfortable as he could then ordered, "Give me the blanket." He took it from Sheppard and used it to cover himself and the major's legs. "You okay?" Rodney asked.

John shifted carefully, settling McKay a bit, then he replied, "Yeah...it's good." And he did feel warmer, which eased the ache in his joints and muscles a bit. Enough so that he could distract himself from that pain as well as the stabbing in his head and John felt himself drifting off.

"Major!"

"What?" He could hear how slurred his voice was.

Rodney smacked Sheppard's thigh. He knew he had to keep him awake, at least for a little while. The major was drifting off to easily and it was dangerous. "Tell me how you ended up playing shuttle pilot in the Antarctica."

John didn't want to talk about it, but he knew what Rodney was doing. He wanted to sleep but it was best if he could stay awake for a while. So he played along. "Disobeyed orders. Big surprise, huh?"

"Definitely," Rodney drawled. "What did you do?" He prompted.

"Three men were down in enemy territory and I was ordered to leave them behind. I refused." John let his head loll back against the wall but he kept his eyes open, staring at the shadowy darkness that was creeping in on them.

Rodney wasn't really surprised to hear that. "So...you saved them and everything, right?" Sheppard had a savior complex that was hard to ignore.

John sighed softly. "Yeah...I got them out and brought them home."

"Shouldn't you be happy about that?" Rodney was surprised by how sad Sheppard sounded. Then it hit him. "Oh...never mind. You got punished for saving them. Which is stupid. Which doesn't surprise me because the military is so narrow-minded. It's all about following orders. Even when they're stupid. Which, of course, is something you don't do half the time anyway, so how the hell did you ever make it up the ranks to Major anyway?" Rodney realized he was rambling but he couldn't stop. The Tylenol hadn't kicked in yet and he needed to distract himself.

"I didn't care about the punishment," John said softly. He had actually rather liked it in the Antarctic. It was peaceful there and he liked being left alone. "It's funny...the families of the guys I brought back...they went to bat for me. I think that's why I didn't get discharged or worse."

Rodney was thoughtful. "What if you had been kicked out? What would you have done?"

John let his eyes close but there was no relief from the stabbing ache in his head. "I would have found someway to fly," he whispered.

"Crop duster?" Rodney guessed, and he was mostly teasing.

"Don't know." John felt the darkness that surrounded them seeping it's way inside him. And he welcomed it. He wanted relief from the cold and the pain. So he let himself drift away.

Rodney felt, as well as heard, Sheppard's breathing change. The cold tremors had ceased and the major went still. Too still. Lifting a hand over his head, Rodney fumbled around until he felt Sheppard's throat. It took him a few frantic minutes to find a pulse point but there it was, beating against his fingertips. Only then did he let himself relax. As long as Sheppard was alive, there was hope. Not that Rodney expected they would actually survive this and make it home. But as he slid into slumber, he figured he could at least dream about it.

oOo

They had reached a crossover point. Finally. John felt like weeping with relief as he shrugged off the harness. He was so damn tired. The morning hadn't started out well. Rodney was in a pissed off mood because he couldn't wake him up this morning. John felt a bit guilty about that, but it wasn't as if he had stayed unconscious on purpose. Not that the rest had helped any. There was no shift in the level of exhaustion that dogged him. It was a part of him now.

The crossover point stretched about two hundred feet across and it wasn't exactly a wide strip. In fact it narrowed considerably as it neared the other side. But John figured they could make it. Hell, they would make it. It wasn't as if they had a choice.

He moved to kneel beside McKay and checked the knee. It was hot and puffy looking, and black and purple in color, and it made John a little nauseous to look at it. So he covered it, carefully, not wanting to wake Rodney. It had taken a shot of morphine to get him to shut up. John hated using it on the one hand, since they only had three shots left. But he could see that Rodney was in agony, and his endless chatter had become distracting. So John had knocked him out and he didn't feel all that guilty about it. Besides which, it would be easier for him to get them across the chasm this way. He would need to be able to focus.

Reaching for the canteen, John took a tiny sip of water, then he recapped it, rose to his feet and shouldered the harness once more. Leaning forward, John made the travois slide across the hard ground and then they were in motion again. Twenty minutes later they were halfway across when a sharp stab of pain in his left temple made John stagger. He fell to one knee and didn't move. It hurt to breathe. After a moment he was able to lift his head and what he saw made him gasp. Slowly moving his right hand, John unclipped his holster and pulled out his Beretta. Then he took aim at his target and fired.

The Wraith stood there and smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends._

The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring

McKay woke with a start. Shots! He'd heard gunshots!

He struggled to rise from the drug-induced haze of sleep, but it was like paddling against the undertow of a strong ocean. The firing continued erratically, and he began to remember where he was, and why.

He twisted, and saw that Sheppard was standing on a thin narrow band of rock that stretched across the canyon, and he was staring ahead as if there were something there, firing like a crazy man.

"Why won't you die, damn it!"

McKay tried to lean on one elbow without destabilizing the precarious balance. "Because you're firing at thin air, Major," he answered reasonably, forcing the fear and worry from his voice. Instead, it came out with just the right amount of sardonic undercurrent.

Sheppard spun about, and twisted so fast that McKay thought for sure they were going over the edge, but he wavered, and regained his balance.

"What?" he snapped, looking about like a blind dog.

"There's nothing there," said McKay. He pointed the finger on his right hand towards the area in front of Sheppard. "What do you think you're shooting at?"

Sheppard looked confusedly at McKay, but turned back, slower, and seemed to scan the scenery. "A wraith." Slowly, he holstered his firearm, as if not trusting that it was a hallucination.

"Just…pull us across," cajoled McKay, his voice soothing as he tried to steady the major's nerves.

Sheppard took a hesitant step forward, but then another, and another, until he was hefting the travois onto solid ground…on the other side. They'd made it!

McKay slumped boneless against the canvas material. "Good," he sighed. "Very good."

Before McKay could tell Sheppard he needed to take a break, he felt the travois jerk with movement. The man was determined to walk himself to his grave, if that's what it took.

The scary thing was, it just might be…

oOo

Sheppard didn't know when was the last time he'd had something to drink, or when he'd gone to the bathroom, or even when he'd last said a word out loud. His world had narrowed to the plodding movement of placing one foot in front of the other, over and over, and over again.

He knew McKay was suffering in silence behind him. Knew also that McKay was becoming convinced they weren't going to make it. There wouldn't be any return trip through the gate – they were doing to die out here, and maybe their friends would never even know why.

"You know what this reminds me of?"

Sheppard jerked from the noise. He'd tuned out the scraping sound caused by dragging the travois, slipping into a hyper-focused state where you only know how to do one thing, only aware of the one thing, because all your worth depends on it.

So coming out of that hyper-focused condition caused almost physical pain.

"What does it remind you of?" Sheppard echoed tiredly.

"Frodo and Sam – of course, I'm Frodo because he was the Master – Sam always called him, 'Master Frodo'," McKay grinned. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Master McKay!" he said with flair.

Sheppard couldn't hold back the snicker, which was probably McKay's intent to begin with. "I suppose there's a passing resemblance to you and a Hobbit," he stopped pulling the travois forward, and shrugged out of the straps. As good of a time as any for a break. "And you sure eat as much."

He dropped painfully down beside McKay, surprised that his body still knew how to bend. He hadn't stopped because by stopping he allowed himself to feel every minute hurt he was suffering. He knew he was in bad shape. He felt dizzy, floaty in a sort of way, and sicker than a dog.

McKay held out the canteen, and all he could do was push it away. He'd never keep it down, and why waste the water when McKay could at least drink it and benefit.

"You take it," he said.

"Major, you can't keep going without water."

Sheppard shook his head and croaked, "You've got it all wrong."

McKay had moved himself into a sitting position, though Sheppard could tell it was taking a lot out of him to maintain it. But, the pain drew off for a puzzled moment. "Got what wrong? That you need water? It's a basic biological fact."

"No," explained Sheppard. "You're role."

He hung his head between his knees, seeking relief, but all it did was make his head pound harder. "Sam cared for Frodo, not the other way around."

McKay pulled a couple of power bars from his bag, and tossed one to Sheppard. "I'm surprised you watched it," he admitted, ripping his package.

Sheppard looked at the power bar. If he couldn't hold down water, why did McKay think he could eat this? "I didn't," he said, tossing it back behind McKay, when he was busy taking another bite.

McKay looked up, a mouthful of food puffing out his cheeks, and mumbled, "You didn't?"

"I read it," he clarified. He'd read Tolkien in college. There were many great authors, and never enough time to read, but Tolkien was a master, in his own way, and Sheppard had made time to tackle the monstrous trilogy. He'd been afraid to see the movie; afraid it wouldn't live up to the book.

McKay chewed his mouthful rapidly. "You've got to see the movie. When we get back -"

His words died in the air; the elephant in the room that neither man wanted to acknowledge to the other.

"It's a date," said Sheppard abruptly. He stood up, and lifted the straps with a mixture of reluctance and dread. The material slid into the ruts worn into the skin on his shoulders.

He started trudging forward.

He wasn't Sam, and McKay wasn't Frodo, but he'd gotten one thing right. They were going to make it to the end, and unlike the story, neither one of them was going to sail to the Havens…

oOo

"I can't do it," muttered Sheppard. "I can't do -" his voice broke, and so did he. He fell to his knees, and retched painfully into the dry dirt between his legs.

They'd left the canyon, and the trees, and the grass long behind. The gate was supposed to be ahead, but all he saw was dust, dirt, and endless paths of the dead –

Sheppard didn't move from his bent place. He wiped a filthy hand across his mouth. He didn't think he'd even know the gate if it rose up before him. He could be seeing things, not noticing – they could walk right by it.

"You're right," said a small voice behind him. "We're not going to make it."

Sheppard's head reared up in anger. "God damn you, McKay! We're going to make it!"

He stumbled to one foot, then the other, and hefted the travois roughly, clumsily.

"I didn't drag you for six days to die out here!"

Dimly, Sheppard saw the darkening sky, and the same ethereal lights that had lured them to this planet began to dance, enticing him to stop, and lie down if only to watch the evocative show. But there would be no stopping tonight. This was it – the end of all things. If they didn't press on, and make it soon, nothing would matter anymore.

He started forward, fumbled, and got to his feet again.

Behind him, McKay fought against the pain, the helplessness, the weight of Sheppard's burden – himself. If it weren't for him, Sheppard wouldn't be dying on this desolate plain.

Sheppard continued to lose track of reality. He thought he'd hear a gate dialing, only to stare out into the inky blackness that now covered the land in an imitation of death; the beautiful light show above cast the only light to walk by.

He talked to McKay, but he knew McKay had passed out at some point from the pain. At least he hoped it was only that. He admitted that McKay had been right about Chaya – but wrong to not trust him. It was then that he knew McKay was really unconscious, because if he'd been awake, he would've argued that point till the sun rose.

The sky had just begun to lighten with the first tantalizing promises of the coming day when Sheppard fell again, and this time he didn't get up.

oOo

Sheppard came to with his face in the dirt. He felt awful. He tried to push himself up, and fell back to his side, rolling as he did, spitting and retching equally.

He heard someone stirring behind him, or to his side. He couldn't tell. His vision was blurred, and gray. Or was that the sky?

_McKay_ -

He might condemn himself to death by inaction, but he wouldn't do it to his friend – to the one person who counted on him, and trusted him to see him home.

He shoved harder with his hands, and this time managed to get his feet under him, but he was shaky. A stiff breeze, and he'd be down. He walked an erratic path to the travois where McKay was laying. He was awake, but seemed disoriented as well.

"Wa'e up," slurred Sheppard, nudging the man with his boot.

McKay stirred more, and blinked. "We're there?"

Sheppard shook his head, and instantly started gagging. When it'd subsided he answered, "No. We've got to go."

"Why?"

"B'caus' we're gonna die." Sheppard fought his mouth to get the words out.

McKay seemed to consider it, and then offered a hand upwards. Sheppard took it, and pulled as hard as he could. Between the two, they were upright, but it'd almost knocked them both down.

Sheppard hooked McKay's arm around his neck, and they started off. McKay was delirious to the point where he didn't feel the pain for his shattered and torn knee, and Sheppard was so far gone he didn't realize McKay was even walking on it.

"You've been a good friend, Major John Sheppard," said a giddy McKay, in between deep breaths of effort.

Sheppard grunted.

"That's what I like about you; you never hold back."

A misstep, and Sheppard's foot twisted. They fell into the dirt, tangled limbs. Sheppard tried to get back into a sitting position, but he stared at the sky instead, stunned from the fall, from the lack of water, and food, and everything else.

He was going to fail. Somewhere in the slow churnings of his mind, he realized he wasn't going to get them to the gate, and if he didn't get them to the gate, they'd die. Dying was failure, and that wasn't acceptable.

With an angry roar, he dived deep for a reserve of strength that only the dying have, and tugged McKay up with him.

"W're n't dead!" he shouted, as best as he could, to the angry sky, for the gray he'd seen earlier was the clouds gathering overhead.

McKay looked upward, and scrunched his eyes against the glare. "Who're talking to?"

Sheppard didn't answer. Instead, he moved purposefully forward, one foot in front of the other, and a hop and a tug, moving McKay forward as well. Moments later, the heavens opened up, and cried for them.

He didn't stop. But something stopped him. He slipped into it, because the rain had turned the dustbowl into a mud pit, and they'd begun to slide as much as step.

The knock sent him, and McKay, back hard onto the ground. He looked up, dumbfounded, because it was the gate they'd walked right into. He started laughing.

McKay joined him, and soon the air was filled with laughter competing with the sounds of pouring rain.

"Dial -"

It was all Sheppard had the energy to say, but McKay got it. They'd left the travois a way back, but strapped to McKay's arm was the device to send their IDC. They were going home.

Sheppard helped McKay to the DHD, and together they watched the symbols light up the way home. He looked over at McKay, and he whispered, "We made it, Master McKay. We made it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

I never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf.

What about side by side with a friend?

Aye…I could do that.

The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King

John didn't remember stepping through the gate. He felt the ground come up to meet him and it hurt. He panted through the pain, hearing a buzzing of sound all around him, and it made his head hurt, so he scrunched his eyes closed. But something touched his face and made him jerk in reaction and when he opened his eyes he saw a blurry face looming over him. "M-McKay..." John croaked.

"John..."

He knew that voice. Elizabeth. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears. They were home. But the brief moment of joy that John felt spiraled away into darkness.

oOo

Elizabeth sat on the bottom step, fingers locked together as she fought to keep herself from shaking. In a way it still hadn't really sunk in that Sheppard and McKay were back. They had come home. But it was hard to accept after seeing them as they lay in a tangled heap on the floor. Both filthy and stinking, damp and pale, barely recognizable under a week's worth of facial hair, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion. They were shells of their former selves and their images haunted her still.

Sheppard had looked the worst. Scarecrow thin, eyes unfocused, his grip as he clutched her arm had been so weak that when his eyes had rolled back and he had slumped away, Elizabeth had feared that he was dead. Beckett had assured her there was a pulse, but his eyes were grim as he turned to head out with the gurneys.

She should be going with them, Elizabeth thought, but she didn't move. She knew Teyla and Ford had followed behind and she would find her way there as well. But right now she needed a moment to give thanks to God and to offer a simple prayer for the two men who were the heart and soul of Atlantis.

oOo

Eight hours passed before Beckett called Elizabeth to his office. Ford and Teyla were already there. Elizabeth resisted the urge to turn and run away. She wasn't sure she was ready for the truth. But she schooled her features into a neutral expression as she stepped through the doorway.

Carson gestured for her to sit down.

"I'll stand," Elizabeth said quietly. Then she asked, "How are they?"

"Alive." Carson let the word echo in the air for a long moment, then he slumped into a nearby chair and rubbed a hand over his tired face. "They beat the odds, I'll tell you that much. By rights...they should be dead."

Ford glared at Beckett. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? You make it sound like you wished they were!"

Carson waved a hand at Ford. "Not at all...not at all. I just want you to understand that they've been through hell and it's going to be a long, slow, recovery. Particularly for Major Sheppard."

Elizabeth noticed that Carson looked worried. "What's wrong with them exactly?" she prompted.

"Well...they're both suffering from exhaustion, malnourishment and severe dehydration," Carson replied. "Major Sheppard seems to have the worst of it though."

"He looked so thin," Teyla interjected, softly.

Carson nodded. "Aye. He's lost about eight pounds he could ill afford to loose. Being slim it shows more on him."

Elizabeth closed her eyes as the unbidden image of Sheppard lying on the gateroom floor, danced in her head. He had looked so damn fragile. Breakable. And yet, even then he had asked about McKay. "What else?" Elizabeth was surprised by how harsh her tone sounded.

"Doctor Bell had to perform surgery on Rodney's knees." Carson sighed. "I won't bore you with the medical details, but it was in bad shape."

"But he'll be okay?" Teyla looked concerned.

Carson nodded. "He should heal nicely. He'll have a bit of physical therapy to suffer through, but he'll be okay."

Ford looked relieved to hear that before asking, "And Major Sheppard?"

"He's not doing so well." Carson did not look happy to be imparting that news. "He's suffered a severe concussion and there was some internal bleeding. His stomach lining and esophagus."

"From what?" Elizabeth asked, although she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know.

Carson made a face. "Vomiting. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up. And being so dehydrated there wasn't really even any bile. The acids in his stomach - "

"We get the idea!" Ford quickly cut him off and swallowed hard, looking a little green.

"Right." Carson sighed. "Anyway...the major is still unconscious."

Teyla reached out to touch Beckett's arm, drawing his attention to her. "But he will wake up."

Elizabeth realized it was a statement, not a question, and she found herself silently echoing it.

"He's a strong man," Carson declared. "But right now it's a waiting game."

"What about Rodney?" Elizabeth needed a ray of hope. "Is he awake yet?"

Carson shook his head. "He came awake for a few minutes after the surgery, but now he's asleep. He needs it. They both do."

Elizabeth nodded. "Can I see them anyway?"

"Of course." Carson offered a weak smile, then he turned to look at Ford and Teyla. "I know you want to see them too, but I'd like you to wait till tomorrow."

"Tomorrow then," Teyla replied.

Ford looked like he would protest, but then he nodded. When Teyla walked out, he followed her.

Elizabeth made to go as well, but stopped when Beckett put out a hand. She frowned as she looked at him. "What is it?"

"I just wanted you to know that Rodney spoke a bit when he woke up."

"What did he say?" Elizabeth was ready to take anything she could get.

Carson looked like he might not say, but then he blurted out, "He said something about John being both Frodo and Sam."

Elizabeth shook her head at that. It didn't make any sense. "Frodo and Sam," she repeated. "Lord of the Rings?"

"I'm guessing," Carson allowed. 

"Thanks." Elizabeth patted his shoulder then headed out. She stopped by Rodney's bed first. He had several IV lines running into him and his face was still bearded, but he looked clean out, just pale. Pale and bruised. Elizabeth felt herself smiling as she reached out to touch him. She needed to feel him.

"You made it home, Rodney," she whispered. "It's going to be all right now." And that she said more for herself. She needed him. Atlantis needed him. Patting his shoulder, even though he wouldn't feel it, Elizabeth stepped around his bed and headed for the corner. But she stopped when she realized a nurse was with Sheppard. She almost turned away until she noticed what the nurse was doing. Shaving the major.

Elizabeth moved closer and simply watched as the blond-haired nurse, she thought her name was Julie, worked at her task. Her hands were sure and steady as she scraped away Sheppard's beard and mustache. She had only a few swipes left then she wiped away the shaving cream with a soft towel before stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Looks good," Elizabeth said softly.

Julie jumped then turned and looked embarrassed. "I know it's foolish...but he's such a handsome man and I just...Well...I just wanted..." She broke off.

But Elizabeth knew what she meant. "You wanted him to look...normal."

"Yes." Julie looked grateful to be understood. "It's good to have them both back."

"Yes...it is." Elizabeth was more grateful for that than she could ever put into words.

She stepped closer to the bed and let herself really look at Sheppard. He was so pale and, like Rodney, his skin looked bruised. He also looked gaunt and haggard but he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Without meaning too, Elizabeth reached out and brushed a lock of his hair off his forehead. It wasn't the touch of a friend, or that of a woman attracted to a man, it was something more maternal. Something more innate.

Julie grabbed her shaving supplies. "I'll leave you with him," she said, then she was gone.

Elizabeth kept her focus on Sheppard. "Welcome home, John," she said softly. "It's good to have you back." There was more she wanted to say, but it lodged in her throat and she couldn't swallow it down without choking. So with a final look, just to convince herself that he really was here and alive, Elizabeth turned and walked away. She was out the door before she had to lift a hand to swipe at her face.

oOo

Rodney dreamed. Sometimes he dreamed about Sam and Frodo, and sometimes he dreamed that he and Sheppard were still trapped on that godforsaken planet just walking around and around in an endless circle. Unlike Sam and Frodo, they never made it home. And it was at this point in the dream that Rodney would wake up and turn his head, and let himself breathe a sigh of relief to see Major Sheppard lying in the bed next to him.

It had been four days since they came home. Rodney didn't remember much about the first two days. Carson told him about the surgery then said he mostly slept. The third day Rodney drank and ate whatever Carson would give him then he slept some more. Today he felt better. His knee still hurt but the pain pills he was on kept it to a dull - ignorable- throb. Anything that wasn't the bone deep, stabbing agony of before, well that worked for Rodney. This pain he could deal with.

"You're awake," Carson stated, as he made his way over to Rodney's side.

"How observant of you," Rodney shot back, without thinking.

Carson grinned from ear to ear. "Now that's music to my ears, that is. You're feeling better?"

Rodney nodded. "Any change with Sheppard?"

"No...he still hasn't stirred."

"But he's going to wake up...right?"

Carson nodded. "I'm betting he will. When he's ready."

Rodney sighed and rubbed his eyes. They felt tight and gritty and no way in hell was he going to cry, even if he had earned the damn tears. "That might be awhile," he whispered. Letting his head drop back against the pillow, Rodney let a heavy silence fall between them for a moment, then he asked, "Can I sit with him?"

"Eat something then maybe I'll put you in a wheelchair for an hour or so," Carson allowed.

"Okay." Rodney didn't have the energy to say anything else. He just turned his head and watched as Major Sheppard slept on.

oOo

Another two days passed before Rodney was willing to tell everyone what happened. They were circled around Sheppard's bed, Rodney ensconced in the wheel chair they had last used for Old Weir. He plucked at the blanket that was spread over his lap as he told his story.

When he got to the part where they crashed and had to bury Hicks, Rodney broke off for a moment. He felt everyone watching him, but he let them wait. When he was ready, when he knew he could continue without choking up, Rodney locked his eyes on Sheppard's face and continued.

"I couldn't walk on my leg so the major made a travois. He pulled me all the way home," Rodney said, with a hint of pride in his voice. And he was damn proud of Sheppard. Proud and grateful. He knew he wouldn't be here telling this story if not for the major.

"He pulled you all the way to the gate?" Carson repeated, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Rodney nodded without looking away from Sheppard's still form. "He was determined to bring us home."

Carson looked stunned. "That's amazing. That he could even walk on his own with his head injury...let alone pull you. Amazing."

"Sounds like a Sheppard thing to do," Elizabeth interjected, and her eyes were locked on the major as well.

"Yes...he is a strong man with a defiant spirit," Teyla added.

Ford was grinning and nodding, but then the grin faltered as he looked over at his CO. "He should be waking up though...shouldn't he?"

Rodney felt a flare of anger but quashed it. He wasn't mad at Ford and it was a fair question. But Rodney understood why Sheppard was still sleeping. "He'll wake up when he's ready," Rodney stated. "He's just...he's tired." And Rodney knew all about tired. No matter how much he slept he still felt exhausted. And thirsty and hungry and it was a sad thing when it actually felt good to pee like a normal person.

"You should get some more rest, Rodney," Elizabeth said softly, letting one hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"Doctor Weir is right," Carson added, as he made to stand behind the wheel chair.

Rodney stopped him. "I want to sit here for a bit. Just a few more minutes." He wanted some time alone with Sheppard. They needed to talk. No one could understand what Rodney was feeling except for Sheppard, and he needed to share what he was feeling. He needed to get it out of him before he burst wide open.

Carson looked ready to protest but then he nodded. "All right, Rodney. You have fifteen minutes." With that Carson shooed everyone else out of the room.

Once he was alone with the major, Rodney wheeled himself closer to the bed. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't say a word. Instead he reached out, slipping his hand through the tangle of IV lines and monitor wires so that he could grip Sheppard's hand. "Don't give up now, major," he whispered. "You're almost all the way home."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine 

How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on when in your heart, you begin to understand – there is no going back…

The Lord of the Rings, Return of the King

Sheppard didn't wake up at once, but rather in short, uncontrolled bursts. His hearing was the first to return. He heard the beeping of monitors, and the gentle rhythm of people moving about. Next, he became aware of his body. A muted soreness pervaded every inch, with localized discomfort in his shoulders and his head. The last step was to open his eyes.

When he did, the first thing he saw was McKay. He was sitting in a wheelchair, head resting on the palm of one hand, which was propped on the armrest of the chair. He seemed to be dozing.

"Mc-Kay," he called. His throat was sore, and talking wasn't easy.

The slumped figure responded instantly; the arm dropped and the head jerked up.

"Major!"

"We made it -" he broke off, unable to continue. He lifted a tired hand towards the pitcher of water resting on a tray table to the side of his bed, and next to McKay's wheelchair.

McKay pushed at the wheels, navigating his knee under the tray so he could reach, and poured a glass, spilling only a small amount because of the awkward angle. He wheeled back, and handed Sheppard the cup.

"Thanks," said Sheppard, after drinking it down in one long gulp. He pointed at McKay's thickly bandaged knee. "How is it?"

"Ask me again tomorrow," said McKay wryly.

Sheppard bunched his eyebrows, "Why?"

"Physical therapy."

"Oh."

Sheppard didn't know what else to say. They'd made it back, and now they'd have to endure the process of getting back their health. He settled for not saying anything, and simply watched McKay, who had become momentarily distracted by a nurse fiddling with something over at what Sheppard guessed was McKay's bed. Sheppard didn't think McKay looked too good.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked.

McKay shrugged, turning his attention back to Sheppard, and trying to pretend it was nothing at all, but Sheppard wasn't fooled. "McKay -"

"Time to change the dressing," he admitted, grimacing.

That explained that, still…

Sheppard waved his own hand covered in tape, which was securing the IV needle, "I'd offer to help you escape, but -"

"No offense," replied McKay. "But after the week on that planet, I can't think of any place I'd rather be than here."

Sheppard didn't get a chance to say anything else, because the nurse had already covered the distance and was reaching for the handles on McKay's wheelchair, smiling and murmuring to him that it was time to do something, he couldn't catch the last part, because she'd already begun to spin McKay around.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something was bothering McKay, and it wasn't the prospect of his bandages being changed.

As he watched McKay, and the nurse, his eyes began to feel heavy, and he felt them drifting shut. He felt…distant…detached almost, from his body, probably a result of the drugs he was getting through the IV. He didn't fight it. He was tired of fighting, and it felt good to just go with what his body was telling him.

When he next woke up, a faster process than before, he was surprised to see Elizabeth waiting this time. She had a book open, and was concentrating on the page.

He didn't say anything. He didn't want to disturb her. Instead, he was content to simply watch, and relish in a simple act that he'd begun to believe he'd never do again – watch Elizabeth Weir.

She turned the page, and as she did so, glanced up from her book and towards him. He figured she'd probably been doing it for a while, judging from the flicker of delight that crossed her face for just a moment, before it was subdued, but her warm smile stayed.

"You're awake."

He grinned easily. "For a while."

She folded the corner of her page, and shut the book, sliding forward in her seat. "How do you feel?"

"Tired," he admitted. "But good."

She touched her forehead, up towards the corner, where Sheppard had bashed his in the crash. "Headache?" she asked.

"A little, but not so much." Whatever Beckett was giving him was doing the trick; of course, he didn't know how long he'd been here either. Could be it was the old adage of time heals all wounds, more than anything.

"You gave us all quite a scare," she admitted.

Sheppard noticed the dark shadows under her eyes, and the fine lines of strain etched around her mouth.

"Sorry," he whispered softly, wishing he could take away the past week of hell for all of them.

She shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. We couldn't come for you, John. We tried -"

"I know," he interrupted. "We hoped you'd figure it out before losing anyone else."

Elizabeth didn't seem less guilty for his reply. Guilt. Everyone had more than their fair share, for one reason or another, but he didn't want Elizabeth or McKay holding it close over this – and suddenly he knew that was behind McKay's earlier 'offness' that he'd sensed, but hadn't been able to put a finger on.

"You could've died," she said. "You almost did."

"But I didn't." He said the only thing that he could. He'd known they were close to the end. He'd felt it. But he'd felt something else, also. "I wasn't afraid, Elizabeth."

She frowned at his words, trying to puzzle out his meaning. "What do you mean?"

"Of dying," he clarified. "No regrets."

She seemed to accept it, even to understand. The serious face was broken by another, new, tentative smile. "I would."

Now it was Sheppard's turn to puzzle at her.

"Regrets," she explained casually. "You promised to teach me how to surf."

"Ah," he nodded solemnly. "You're right." He lowered his voice in mock seriousness, "That'd be criminal if you never learned how to surf."

Sheppard found the conversation had quickly drained whatever reserve of strength he'd managed to gain. He fought against the tidal wave of sleep that threatened to overtake him. Elizabeth's smile faded, but the warmth stayed.

She reached towards him, tugging the blanket back in place. "Rest some more, John."

He didn't want to sleep, just because he didn't want to leave her…leave the act of being awake and knowing they were home. But, he couldn't fight the force of gravity against his eyelids. As they began to close, he reached for her hand, and felt her clasp it tightly.

"You'll be here?" he whispered tiredly. "When I wake up?"

He had already lost the battle to stay awake by the time she'd managed to swallow the lump in her throat, and reply, "I will."

…and she was.

The days passed, and Sheppard regained the strength he'd lost, but not so easy as it'd gone. The switch to liquid, then solid food. Making muscles move that had gone slack after a week recuperating in bed.

He labored next to McKay, doing all-over body exercises while McKay did those, and his knee to boot. They sweated, and groaned, and inwardly they stewed over their experience.

Sheppard had tried to draw McKay into talking about what was bothering him. Why he was moody, and withdrawn, but so far he'd had no luck. He'd talked to Beckett. Carson had been more than forthcoming regarding their conditions - how close to death they'd been when the two had stumbled through the gate. But as to Rodney's mood, Carson could only theorize the brush with death had been a little too close for the physicists comfort.

But Sheppard knew it wasn't that. That would be selfish, and while on the surface McKay put on a good act, Sheppard knew better. He'd heard McKay urge him to leave him behind, more so than even McKay knew, because in McKay's drugged state towards the end, he'd said it more and more.

Sheppard cornered Beckett later that day on when they could expect to be released. Carson promised that if they passed a final physical, they could go before dinner tonight. Elated, Sheppard began to fine tune the plan growing in his mind…

oOo

"Where are we going?"

Sheppard smiled, and wheeled the blindfolded man through the corridor. "Just wait," he answered. "Patience, McKay."

"I've been patient," snapped Rodney. "You've been pushing me around Atlantis for so long now, I'm beginning to wonder if you aren't trying to ditch me in some isolated part of the city!"

The joke fell flat.

"I didn't mean -"

Sheppard pushed McKay's chair into position. "I know," he said dismissively. "You spend half the day putting your foot in your mouth, and the other half, pulling it back out."

McKay spluttered, "You should talk -"

But Sheppard pulled the blindfold off with a flourish, and cut him off, "Shush, the movie's on."

"Movie?" McKay blinked at the screen, as the lights dimmed in the room.

The view screen came to life, and the words in blazing fire, and heavy script, formed the title: The Lord of the Rings.

McKay snorted, but grinned in spite of himself. "I hope you brought lots of popcorn."

Sheppard held a large bowl aloft. "Settle in, McKay. I hear it's a long movie…"

oOo

Hours later, the ending credits rolled on Return of the King. Sheppard stared at the screen, surprised at the strength of emotions rising in his gut over the painful goodbye between Frodo and Sam. Even though he'd read the book, it was hitting too close to home. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea –

"Now you see what I mean?" asked McKay, looking over at him.

Sheppard nodded. "It was good." He stretched. They'd stopped for bathroom breaks, and that had been it. He glanced at his watch, over ten hours! "Long," he said.

"It took us a week," joked McKay. "What's ten hours compared to seven days?"

Sheppard chuckled, though there was an edge of weariness. "I think it took them more than ten hours."

They both fell quiet then, the haunting music playing softly in the background. Now that he was here, Sheppard didn't know how to open the dialogue to ease McKay's depression. To ease his guilt.

He didn't have to.

"You should've left me."

Sheppard looked at him, surprised that McKay was initiating it. "Why?" he asked. He wanted McKay to stop feeling, and think about it logically.

"Because you almost died, and if you'd left me, that never would've happened."

Sheppard was already shaking his head before McKay finished. "And then we both might've died."

McKay cocked his head at Sheppard. "How does leaving me cause you to die? You would've made it easily on your own."

"I made it because I had your life to save," said Sheppard. He was staring at McKay, and right then, all pretenses and walls dropped between them. He wasn't holding anything back. "I'm not out to find death, McKay, but I'm not scared of it either. But what scares me is letting you down – letting _you_ die."

"Two-way street, Major." McKay felt an ache growing in his throat, along with the ache in his knee. He hated death. It was so permanent.

Sheppard knew they were pushing into new ground. You had to be careful when you did that. Lots of stumps and rocks to stumble over.

He stood up, and reached for McKay's chair, and recited softly, "Let's hear about Frodo, and the ring – he was one of the most courageous of hobbits."

McKay knew Sheppard was referring to how he'd stayed steady in the crisis, and how he'd helped Sheppard when Sheppard was losing ground, and the ability to function, but McKay also knew that he couldn't have done it alone.

McKay knew the dialogue in question very well. He finished Sheppard's thought, speaking matter-of-factly. "But I want to hear more about Sam. Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam -"

Sheppard stopped pushing McKay's chair, and looked down at the physicist. He sighed. "God help us, McKay." He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. "God help us, when the day comes and one of us falls -"

McKay's answer said all there was left to say. "Then we better not fall -"

**THE END.**


End file.
